


a black heart of gold

by karasunotsubasa



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Angry Sex, Arguing, Betrayal, Big Bang!!! on Ice, Blood Drinking, Blood and Injury, Blowjobs, Dancing, Deceit, Deceivingly Cute Victor Nikiforov, Dreams and Nightmares, Drinking, Drugs, Enemies to Lovers, Eros Katsuki Yuuri, Eros isn't just a concept - he's real, Eventual Happy Ending, Extortion, Fights, Fireworks, Flirting, Fluff, Gun Violence, Knives, Light Angst, M/M, Making Up, Marriage Proposal, Minor Character Death, Multiple Personalities, Murder, Murder Husbands, Personality Disorder, Phichit is the best friend we all want but don't deserve, Pining Victor Nikiforov, Possessive Katsuki Yuuri, Protective Victor Nikiforov, Restraints, Reunions, Seducer Eros, Shaving, Sightseeing, Skinny Dipping, Smut, Switching, Victor is a flirt, Yukatas and Festivals, bigbangonice2018, mainly from victor pining really hard, ooc katsuki yuuri?, travelling, which is premeditated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 16:23:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 67,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13744779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karasunotsubasa/pseuds/karasunotsubasa
Summary: Victor Nikiforov, aka Grand Prix, knows that he's Yakov's most skilled hitman. That's just a fact and he isn't in the habit of arguing with facts.He also knows that he's the only one Yakov trusts, period. In this case though, he's the only one Yakov can rely on to take care of the elusive sniper Eros, who kills Yakov's henchmen left and right.What Victor doesn't know, however, is that Eros' little vendetta is not a matter of coincidence, but pure premeditation, and thus... he falls into a trap that a rookie like Little Fairy could see from a mile away.He falls in lust.And then in love.The fool.





	1. Grand Prix

**Author's Note:**

> omg I spent so long just working on this fic for bboi that I don't even know what to say now that it's done and about to be published tychynj I never expected it to get so long tbh? the initial count for the full thing was supposed to be 30k but then any gave me so many pointers as to how I could improve on it that I just????? //sweats I totally wrote 35k more of it simply bc we got too hype ahaha WELP WHAT CAN U DO
> 
> I'd like to take this moment to thank both any and giah for their hard work on this project bc I appreciate all the input you guys gave me - it truly helped me to bring this story to the next level and I can't even express how grateful as a writer, and a person, I am for that. not to mention the incredible art you both created ahhhh!!! I already screamed at you both about it but I'm honestly still not over it and I may or may not be squealing like an idiot just thinking about how lucky I am to have worked with such amazing artists! thank you so much for everything, I've had an incredible experience with you <3
> 
> credits for [the art that you can find in chapter 1](http://iruutciv.tumblr.com/post/171086013916/id-love-to-spill-all-my-secrets-on-your-pretty) go to [@iruutciv](http://iruutciv.tumblr.com/)  
> credits for [the art that you can find in chapter 3](http://lamenart.tumblr.com/post/171085862600/my-art-for-a-black-heart-of-gold-by-katzuyas-for) go to [@lamenart](http://lamenart.tumblr.com/)  
> banner was created by @lamenart with the use of both giah and any's art!!  
> the title comes from [dorothy's dark nights](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=keow2YgWaZ4)  
> and now, after all that talking, here's the fic: enjoy!

 

 

 

 

 

Standing at gunpoint in his own bathroom, of all places, with hands still under the lukewarm stream of tap water, Yuuri imagined there were worse ways to start the day. In fact, as his gaze met with cold, hard eyes of the man pressing the steel to the back of his head, Yuuri tried to make a bad situation worse because what was life without a little fun?

"I just started a pot of tea," he said conversationally, washing the soap off his hands. "Want to join me for a cuppa?"

He didn't need to look into the mirror to know the guy behind him was sneering. The mouth of the gun pressed more firmly into the dip between his skull and spine, and Yuuri sighed. No tea, then.

With practiced ease, he shifted his centre of balance to his toes and, pretending to shake off his wet hands, Yuuri moved. Methodically, careful care in each shift of muscle, but fast enough to be unpredictable.

Duck, step to the side, twirl.

Almost like dancing.

His arm snapped up to block the first shot, like he was trying to catch his invisible partner in a lift. The bullet shattered the tiles behind his shoulder with a quiet zit from the silencer attached to the gun. Broken pieces of the ceramic crashed down onto the floor, making far more noise than the actual shot, but Yuuri paid it no mind. It was part of the aria they were dancing to: only white noise that put the rhythm into their bodies, fast, but tender, like a passionate lover.

Yuuri grinned to himself, clenching his fist tight. A quick punch to the face made the hitman loosen his grip – _amateur,_ Yuuri thought – and before he could recover, Yuuri's hand was already there, guiding the tip of the barrel right into the guy's gut.

The gun fired twice more, and that was that. A perfect ending of another act. Curtain down. Applause!

The body slipped to the floor when Yuuri released his grip. A large pool of blood already began to form underneath and, barefoot, Yuuri stepped over it to avoid the mess. He padded over to his bag and brought out a spare cleaning cloth to wipe the fingerprints off the gun, which he then threw back into the bathroom.

Once he returned back to the bedroom, Yuuri hid the cloth in a side pocket of his bag and dressed properly. He checked his flight info again and smirked to himself as he hefted up his bag onto his shoulder.

It was time. Finally.

 

 

 

 

"Can you do it?" Celestino asked.

His eyes never left Yuuri's face as if he was trying to gauge his reaction through the blank mask Yuuri had put on. He should've known better.

"It'll be hard," Yuuri gave easily.

It was a non-response: every mission was hard. They both knew it. Celestino measured him with a look and said nothing, though. Yuuri's gaze returned to the folders in his lap.

He brought a finger against his lips. Absently, he traced the plush of his cupid's bow, eyes never leaving the picture he'd found inside the first folder Celestino had handed to him over the big mahogany desk only five minutes ago. Cold, blue gaze was the first thing Yuuri was drawn to when he glanced under the cover, but that quickly got forgotten as Yuuri took in the entire face of his next target: he was a thing of beauty.

Frankly, Yuuri could honestly say he had never seen a person more attractive than–

"Victor Nikiforov," he said, tasting the way it rolled off his tongue.

Sharp, dangerous... lovely. Yuuri dug his nail into his bottom lip. Ah, this was exciting.

He scanned the information on the front page once again. The blood that calmly flowed through his veins until now was buzzing. Pound after pound, his heart answered the call that read "49 solo kills". Below was the standard recon info – age, height, weight, blood type – that Yuuri only skipped past in order to get to the good stuff: the code name that made Yuuri's head spin with delirious exhilaration.

A master of his art, a true connoisseur of genius, a virtuoso of the craft that they both shared. A legend, inspiration, the one and only... Grand Prix.

"How much time do I have?" he asked, looking up at Celestino.

He knew his excitement was barely concealed, but it didn't worry him in the least. Everyone already knew that Yuuri was a bit of a fan of Grand Prix' body of work.

"How much do you need?" Celestino lifted an eyebrow at him. "We could give you Minami to help with–"

Yuuri made a small noise of annoyance. This was his. _Grand Prix_ was his. He didn't need help. Not for this, not for anything.

"I don't want Minami. I don't want anyone." He waved a hand. "If something goes wrong, you shouldn't lose more than one of us. It'll be trouble to recruit again, right?"

Celestino's gaze was disapproving. "You've been talking to Phichit, haven't you?"

"More like he's been talking to me," Yuuri shrugged. "Can you blame him? He's always cooped up in that lab of his. He's bored. He needs friends."

Celestino's face clearly said "So do you," and Yuuri purposefully chose not to comment on it. He glanced down at the file again. It was thick. Going through it would take some time, prepping for the mission would take even more, and completing it... well, that would take the longest, proven that he actually can bring it to closure. No matter how excited he was, he couldn't skip past this.

How did that song go? Wise men say, only fools rush in... or something.

Yuuri hummed.

"I'll need at least two months for prep," he finally said.

He closed the file, hiding Grand Prix' pretty face from view. The second folder remained unopened underneath, but Yuuri knew enough about Grand Prix to know what the label meant. The mission wasn't as simple as a quick elimination of the competition. There was more to it and before Yuuri set out to make his move, he needed to make sure he knew how to make the most of it.

"After that, probably a year to crack him open. Maybe more," he added.

It was a safe timeline. Possibly too safe, but somehow Yuuri had no doubt that Grand Prix will take up all his willingly given time anyway.

"What are you thinking?" Celestino asked. He must have seen through a small crack the giddiness made in Yuuri's mask.

Yuuri's lips stretched in a smile, cold and greedy.

"We'll give Mr. Grand Prix a taste of his own medicine."

 

 

 

 

"Another?"

Yakov's face was hardly amused. It generally was never any kind of happy, but now it was so much easier to see the deep wrinkles on his forehead, which suggested that his mood was below the average _bad_. He spoke on the phone a moment more, giving the person on the other end the directions to the safehouse in China, before he hung up and sat down hard in his leather chair.

The file Victor had been looking through was roughly plucked from his fingers.

"Change of plans," Yakov said. "You're going after Eros."

_What?_

"Wasn't Anatoli on that?" Victor asked, surprised. Did he need backup or...?

"Anatoli is dead," Yakov announced with little to no indication that it bothered him at all. Except Victor knew him too well and he could see the angry twitch of Yakov's eye. "His body was found in a bathroom of a small apartment building in Guangzhou. The entire room was swiped clean, no traces of anything left."

Victor chewed on his lower lip. It was the fourth guy that went after the elusive Eros, and the fourth corpse they had to retrieve. Somehow, be it by sheer skill or by superior intel gathering, crème de la crème of Russian hitmen were being offed by a single man. Victor could see how the situation would've served to anger Yakov enough to give him the mission.

"Okay," he said, smiling a little. "I could use some vacation."

"Don't get distracted, Vitya," Yakov chided, his face serious. "I don't want to find your corpse next."

Victor pressed a hand to his heart in shock, a hurt expression on his face, "Yakov, you wound me. The only corpse you'll be finding will be marked with letter E."

"It better," Yakov threatened, but it was a weak threat and they both knew it.

 

 

 

 

Anatoli's place was a mess.

Stacks upon stacks of unbound newspapers in the hallway, unwashed dishes in the sink (which smelled like old, dirty socks) and the mold covering all the walls of the fridge in a thick forest; it made Victor gag, but he politely didn't comment except for his wrinkled in disgust nose.

Victor looked through the tables and drawers, searching for any clues that might lead him to what exactly Eros would've been in China for. Or his identity. Or his previous IDs. Anything about Eros, actually.

There was nothing.

So with little else to do, Victor booked a flight to the other side of the world in hopes Anatoli's lair in China would bring more fruit. And it did. _Oh, it did_.

Twenty-four hours later Victor had found himself sitting on Anatoli's unmade bed with a folder in his hands.

_Yuuri Katsuki._

Brown eyes looked at him from behind heavy glasses. The man had a small, kindly shaped face, framed with black, slightly messy hair. There was a smile playing on his lips as if he was trying to smile for whoever was taking the picture, but he wasn't feeling entirely comfortable with the attention.

_Yuuri._

Born at the end of November, in Japan. 23. Mother, father, older sister. Finished high school and then went to college in Detroit on a scholarship. Economics major. Not many friends, but the ones he has are devoted. Generally, a good kid with good grades, who everyone loves because he doesn't act up.

Now, wasn't that just the perfect cover? Victor grinned to himself.

"Who would've thought that Eros was someone like you," he murmured to himself, caressing the picture with a finger.

It was time to work.

 

 

 

 

"When are you coming back?"

Phichit was tinkering with Yuuri's watch under the microscope's magnifying glass, checking on the tiny needles with sedatives that were implanted there in case of an emergency. Yuuri had never used them before, but it was better to have all of his equipment battle approved than bother with figuring it out on the go. Well, that, and Phichit was a thousand times better at this than Yuuri. It wouldn't hurt to have him do it instead of wasting hours on it himself.

"I honestly have no idea," Yuuri said, slumped behind Phichit's absent colleague's desk. He played with the abandoned Rubik's cube while waiting. "This could take a while. If I succeed... it could be the most important assignment in my entire career."

Phichit's back straightened and he looked over at Yuuri.

"And you still won't tell me who it is?" he asked, pouting.

Yuuri smiled and shrugged. "Nope."

"Fine, fine, keep your secrets," Phichit grumbled.

He tinkered with the watch for a little longer before he finally gave a huff that in Phichitongue meant "Good enough." He threw it at Yuuri and Yuuri caught it with ease. He put it around his wrist.

"So what else do you want?" Phichit asked. "We have this new freezing spray that freezes the particles on the molecular level so it only–"

"None of that, please," Yuuri laughs. "Keep the spray for another time. I just want the usual for now. It's a recon mission before the real deal starts."

Phichit hums. "Will you want the spray then?"

Yuuri can't help his grin. "Who knows, maybe? If things go well. Do you have an anti-freeze for that spray, too?"

"Better," Phichit shared his grin, looking at Yuuri over his shoulder while he was going through rows on rows of tech to pick Yuuri's stellar choices. "We have a portable flamethrower in dev. I'll push to have it ready for you when you come back."

"Sure."

It wasn't the thoughts of what he could he even _do_ with a flamethrower that made Yuuri giggle in his hand like a teen. It was the fact that he already had a dozen different ideas. And he could hardly wait.

"I'll take it," he agreed.

 

 

 

 

Tracking Eros ­- _Yuuri_ \- down was fairly easy.

He was in Boston, renting out a small flat above a flower shop. Victor set up in a flat in the building right across the street, turning it into his lair in minutes. He could've just gone in for the kill, but... where was the fun in that? The four corpses of his former comrades had clear opinions on where the fun was, but Victor pretended that his consciousness had no voice on the matter.

He'd meticulously prepared for a long stakeout to figure out every nook and cranny of Yuuri's style, so he could come up with the best and most effective way to approach the mission. He really didn't need Yakov's tears on his grave, no thank you.

And so, the most boring part of the job began. Victor could feel himself growing roots into his observation chair and slowly becoming one with the room's furniture – he was _so done_.

Day 1: Victor spotted Yuuri talking to the lady working in the flower shop.

Day 2: Yuuri bought a single flower, a yellow rose. Victor checked the meaning of the flower, out of simple boredom, nothing else – joy, friendship, the promise of a new beginning. Could this be it?

Day 3: Yuuri bought another rose, and now Victor was convinced: this _was_ it.

Day 4: Another yellow rose had Victor shift on the edge of his seat. Come on, he thought, pressing his binoculars more firmly into his face as if it could make him see better. _Come on._

Day 5: Victor was bored. So bored. Yuuri bought another yellow rose and nothing else happened.

On day 6, however, a man in a suit that looked far too expensive to be from around these parts came by the shop and left with a bud of a single yellow rose tucked into the lapel of his suit. Victor's fingers tingled with excitement, because finally, _finally_ , the contact has been made.

It was only natural that on day 7 Victor expected something big. He didn't know what, but something, anything, that would pull off Yuuri's innocent mask. Victor couldn't wait to meet Eros and the sheer prospect of being able to see the transformation made him giddy.

Bringing his usual morning coffee and a sour cream bagel up the stairs to his place, Victor felt his blood hum in a sweet tune of anticipation. He was ready, so ready. He didn't enjoy killing per se, but meeting the killers, oh, that was always _fascinating_. Watching them crumble even more so.

He wondered in what ways someone like Eros would fall apart.

Would he cry? Would he beg for his life?

Or maybe, maybe he'd laugh in the face of death, daring Victor to pull the trigger?

Victor finished his bagel and took his spot on the chair by the window, hidden from view by the thick curtain. It was a great observing nook, since he had an eye on Yuuri's windows, the door of the building and the street below, and the door to his own room in case his position was compromised.

Satisfied, he took a sip of his coffee. Warmth spilled over his chest and he sighed happily, taking another long sip. He hummed and sitting back in his chair. Nothing out of the ordinary was going on, so he allowed himself the little pleasure of enjoying the coffee. Before he was halfway through the cup though, he felt it: the slight drowsiness that curled around his limbs like restraints. He frowned, but only after he lifted the cup back to his lips did he realize the full extent of what was happening.

Incredulously, he looked at the paper cup.

It couldn't be. He watched the guy at the shop make it. He watched him _the whole time_.

But it was too late for this now – the drug inside the coffee was working full time and the drowsiness was harder and harder to fight. His last thought before falling asleep was quite odd and Victor couldn't help the ridiculous smile that tugged the corners of his mouth up.

_Ah. You got me, Eros..._

 

 

 

God, but he was _pretty_.

Yuuri turned Grand Prix' face up.

His eyelashes were long and pale, almost silver in the overhead lights. His big forehead was actually quite adorable and his slightly upturned nose was cute, too. And his lips... Yuuri couldn't help but rub his thumb on the soft, preciously pink lower lip that gave under his touch with no resistance. It reddened fast, a stunning contrast against Grand Prix' pale skin. For a brief moment Yuuri wondered how the best hitman in the world would look like debauched and begging on the verge of orgasm, and the possessiveness that awoke within him at the thought surprised even him.

"You're too much," Yuuri told the unconscious man, letting go of his chin.

He turned away from the tempting sight before him and glanced at the time. There was still another ten to fifteen minutes before Grand Prix would wake up, so to pass the boredom, Yuuri pulled out gloves from the back pocket of his pants and began going through the drawers.

There wasn't much of importance here, really, but it changed when he got to the laptop. It was still on, a rookie mistake that only made Yuuri grin – he truly must have surprised Grand Prix if he'd let his guard down this much. Or–

Yuuri looked back at the slumped head of silver hair. Would the greatest hitman in the world just leave everything out in the open, even if he didn't expect an attack?

Blood rushed faster through Yuuri's body, heady and addictive, and he chuckled.

It was a trap.

 

 

 

 

Victor woke up in a chair: a wooden one, of course. His wrists were locked behind his back. A rope was tied to the handcuffs and then wound around Victor's shoulders. His ankles were cuffed to the legs of his chair as well and the metal bit into his skin even despite his socks. The worst, however, was the mouth gag made of Victor's own pillowcase.

 _Diligent_ , Victor thought.

Before he had the time to look around the room, there were footsteps behind him. Eros – Eros, not Yuuri – _Eros_ , came around the chair to sit casually on the edge of the bed. He was... Victor couldn't have found words even if his tongue wasn't being pressed down by the wet linen.

The days he'd spent observing Yuuri and what he'd found in Anatoli's files now all made sense.

Eros wasn't Yuuri.

Yuuri wasn't Eros.

The man sitting before Victor was strong, confident, and fully aware of the way people worked. His hair was gelled back, not even a strand out of place. The glasses were gone. His face was far sharper than the soft one Victor remembered from Anatoli's picture, than the one he'd watched for almost a week. And his eyes, _oh_ , that was probably the biggest change. The same eyes that were previously so shy and withdrawn were now burning into Victor as if they could see straight into his soul, and hell, _they probably could_.

Victor wanted to ask if Eros was going to kill him. He wouldn't mind dying like this. Maybe not _exactly_ like this, tied to a chair and all, but by Eros' hand? Hmm...

"I was wondering, you know," Eros said without a preamble, and immediately Victor's attention was on him again. His voice was quiet, low. A sound that run over your skin like a caress. "Isn't your boss tired of losing his pawns? I swear I thought he'd get it by now, but... here you are." He flicked one gloved hand in Victor's direction. "I don't know if I should be honoured or not. The infamous Grand Prix."

He looked at Victor with sharp eyes, which then widened a bit in fake consternation.

"Ah, where are my manners. I forgot the gag."

He stood up and walked over. A hand reached out towards Victor's face and Victor expected a sharp tug at the piece of rag that held the gag inside his mouth. Instead, Eros' fingers were gentle as they untied the knot behind his head, plucking out the disgusting fabric from between his lips. To Victor's shock and growing confusion, Eros then slowly rubbed Victor's sore jaw with his thumb – a gesture so caring and soft that Victor felt like he still was gagged even though his mouth was empty now.

Frowning, because _what was he playing at_ , Victor looked up into brown eyes.

"Don't bite off your tongue," Eros told him, fingers cradling Victor's jaw. The touch was electric with danger, but tender, and all Victor could do was swallow through his own confusion. "I can always kill you if you're desperate to die."

"Wasn't really on my schedule for today," Victor managed to say, even if his tongue felt wobbly in his mouth. "But if someone as pretty as you insists, how can I say no?"

Eros looked at him for a moment, and then a corner of his mouth quirked. He returned to the bed, sitting down again and regarding Victor with far more interest than before.

And it was more than mutual.

"So," Eros started. "Tell me, why are the Russians after me? I don't think I ever did anything to your boss to warrant this kind of treatment. And here I am, catching another one of you Russians following me wherever I go with guns and threats on my life. Aren't you tired of getting killed?"

"Ah, us, Russians," Victor smiled a little coldly. "We're prideful creatures. You must have stepped on far too many toes while dancing, I'm afraid. Someone wants you dead. Badly."

He would've shrugged if he could, but the binds around his wrists and shoulders held on strong. Damn it.

"We're only hired to do the dirty work. Isn't that the same for you, sweet Eros?"

Eros said nothing, clearly thinking of something or someone he might have made an enemy out of. There was a slight frown around his mouth that was honestly far too adorable, and Victor had to do something to distract himself.

"So," Victor mimicked Eros' previous conversation starter. He shifted in his binds casually, as much as they allowed. Which wasn't much at all. "What is a gorgeous man like you doing all alone in a town like this? You know who I am. Does that mean you're a fan?"

"You could say that. I believe we're both here for the same reason – business," Eros told him absently, before he focused his gaze back on Victor. "Why did Yakov Feltsman sent you to kill me? Who wants me dead? And why you? Feltsman's bound to have more of those disposable underlings to take care of little old me."

"I'd love to spill all my secrets on your pretty head, Eros, but I'm afraid my lips are sealed," Victor said, smiling apologetically as if it was all out of his hands. Then, he smirked. "Unless you want to unseal them? Perhaps with your own?"

The smirk that appeared on Eros' face in response was a pleasant surprise.

"You wouldn't survive my kiss, dearie."

Victor's heart skipped a beat, jumping straight into a wild pace of excitement. He was playing with fire, he knew. He was tied up and handcuffed, but he was already working on loosening the ropes. The handcuffs would be an easy feat if he got rid of that first. A dislocated thumb was something he could live with for a few seconds. And if he got a deathly kiss from the beauty before him? Count him a winner.

"I'll take my chances," he grinned.

Eros' eyes brightened for a moment with true amusement. "Tell me what I need to know and I'll consider it. Maybe I could even be convinced to offer you a small reward for all your troubles."

Eros run a finger down the line of Victor's throat, light, teasing, tempting. The shiver of arousal was hard to suppress when Eros grabbed Victor's throat in hand a second later, leaned down over him and, squeezing just a fair amount to make Victor's breathing come faster, more desperate, he whispered in a voice dark with promise:

"I know how to make it worth your while. Trust me."

 

 

 

 

Truly, Victor could see why he was worthy of his code name.

"Ah..."

Victor licked his lips under the hot gaze of Eros' gorgeous brown eyes. He was getting an itch under his skin, Eros' gaze was so intense. If he wasn't tied he would very much want to take this conversation further, but as it was, he could only offer a little smirk.

"I'm afraid it doesn't work that way, love," he gave.

"Shame," Eros said.

The hand on Victor's throat disappeared, just as the heat did from Eros' eyes. His entire demeanour changed almost as if before it was only a mirage. With a roll of a shoulder, Eros shifted into something far colder than the playful teasing they'd done until now. He produced a syringe, a needle and a small vial from a pocket of his jacket. Without glancing back at Victor or wasting any time, he bared the needle, dosed in the sickly orange substance and pushed out the excess air. Only then did he turn back.

"I had hopes for you," he said in a voice that breathed disappointment.

Victor struggled to keep his mask. His pulse jumped at both the tone and the needle coming close to his tied back arm. All previous thoughts of winning were gone from his head. Still tied, defenceless, he was no winner. Getting drugged again now would complicate things for him. Quite a lot, actually.

He tensed up unconsciously.

"What is that?" he tried to gain as much intel as he could. If anything, it might prove helpful in finding an antidote. At this point anything would do, Victor thought. "A love potion? Darling, you didn't have to. I'm plenty charmed already."

"If you say so," Eros murmured at the same time as the needle pierced the skin on the inside of Victor's elbow.

The uncomfortable feeling of liquid entering his bloodstream was over in a second and a small trail of blood run down his forearm. The drug worked fast and barely a few blinks later Victor could feel his vision swim. He was losing consciousness fast, and damn, this day was a crappy one from start to finish, but just as he was slipping away Victor felt a soft brush of fingers in his hair ­– a soothing touch, accompanied by something that felt far too similar to a kiss to his temple... but that just couldn't be, could it?

He was out before he could decide.

 

 

 

 

It wasn't a trap.

Yuuri was honestly quite disappointed.

Sure, Grand Prix was charming. He was a flirt. Yuuri wouldn't mind dancing around with him some more and, frankly, touching him had been what Yuuri always imagined: thrilling, addictive, delightful. Yuuri wanted to touch him more. To squeeze his throat so hard, Grand Prix' breath would wheeze past his sweet lips. To pinch his skin, scratch it, bruise it, until it was all marked and pink from abuse. To tighten up the ropes that were holding him back, just so Yuuri could put his mouth all over the dents in his flesh that were undoubtedly already there...

_He wanted._

There were moments when he was almost certain that Grand Prix would give in to him, too. It was in his eyes, in his smirk. He was playful, yes, but he was also needy and it was easy to see even beneath the mask of the charming flirt Grand Prix put up.

And that, that was disappointing.

Yuuri wanted more, needed more. More of a challenge, more of a game – an adversary that could outwit him and make him ache every step of the way as they chased each other into their graves. Sadly, that wasn't what he found in Grand Prix.

But... the potential was there. The potential for the bad, and the good, and it made Yuuri reconsider his plans for the assignment.

Yuuri took a deep breath, taking in the smell of Grand Prix' shampoo. He nuzzled his cheek against the side of the unconscious man's head. The hair was silky and soft, and Yuuri closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the peaceful sensation.

"I'll shape you into something beautiful," he whispered into Grand Prix' ear. "Just you wait, dearie."

 

 

 

 

Hours later, Victor woke up with a headache the size of St. Petersburg and an itch in his arm that he couldn't scratch because of the binds still keeping him chained to the uncomfortable, wooden chair. Eros was nowhere in sight so, sluggishly, Victor got himself out of the rope, out of the handcuffs, out of that blasted chair. He slumped on his bed, exhausted.

He was alive, which was good.

He knew for a fact who Eros was, which was also good.

But now Eros knew who he was as well. And that... that was not good.

He plucked his phone out of his pocket and dialled Yakov, dreading each and every one of the long beeps as he waited for the boss to pick up. When he did, his gruff voice somehow didn't help to settle Victor's nerves as much as Victor hoped.

"What is it?"

For a beat of silence Victor debated the option of just hanging up, but that would leave him alone and with no resources. And more than anything, he now wanted to find Eros again. So he swallowed his pride and said:

"I may or may not have been compromised."

Yakov's silence didn't bode well.

 

 

 

 

"Yes," Yuuri said.

He was pressing the phone to his ear while his eyes kept shifting between the monitors. Four different ones, sixteen different cameras, all different angles. In the upper left, Victor Nikiforov was looking through his scattered documents and laptop files in utter frustration only to notice that all the carefully gathered information about Eros was wiped clean.

"No, he doesn't suspect a thing," he said to his handler, slightly amused that Celestino could've thought otherwise. "Don't worry, it'll be done."

He dropped the call, leaning back in his chair. The folder file that lied on his desk and now served as a pad for his mug of tea had a name written in neat Cyrillic on the front lapel and Yuuri read it with a careless glance as he smiled to himself: Виктор Никифоров, aka Grand Prix.

He took the mug and leaned back in his chair with a little sigh, reaching for another folder – this one open and titled Яков Фельцман. Because his work was just getting started.

 

 


	2. Hopes

 

 

"Well... At least you aren't dead," was the first thing Yakov had said as soon as Victor stepped into his Moscow office.

And everything would've been fine, all sparkly and dandy, _if he wasn't right_. The seemingly caring sentence was, in fact, Yakov's favourite type of punishment for his unruly protégés. All veiled in the pretence of nonchalance, it had a double meaning – one that Victor bristled at.

His pride was positively poked.

He glared at Yakov, a hearty but sulky glare, because even if Yakov was saying "You let yourself be bested by a brat, well done, Mr. Number One Hitman," _he was_ _right_.

"Fine, fine," Victor grumbled. "I'm going to find him again, and kill him this time, and then you can stop giving me this look."

"I'm not giving you a look," Yakov replied flatly. "Just take some backup with you. You know Yuri's been dying to go on an assignment with you, even if he won't admit to it. And you could use the help this time, just so Eros doesn't get too far out of line."

"No," Victor denied. "I'm doing this alone. Because apparently you don't believe I can!"

Now he was offended. How dare Yakov suggest he was getting rusty! What a ridiculous thought.

"Don't go putting words in my mouth, Vitya," Yakov returned without as much as batting an eye at his accusation. "And stop acting like a child, which you stopped being way before I took you in. Think of how much you can teach Yuri. He could be your legacy–"

"No," Victor repeated again, cutting Yakov off harshly. "I'm hunting Eros alone. He's mine. It's personal now." His fists clenched at his sides and he unclenched them forcibly, before he continued: "He made it personal and I'll be damned if I let anyone else take this off my hands. I'm not going to hide behind a kid's back, Yakov."

"And you're ready to take Eros on? Now that you've matched your strength against his, are you certain you can do it? Alone?" Yakov asked, gravel in his voice. "He had ample opportunity to get rid of you before. Who's to say he won't take the shot next time if you let your guard down?"

His eyes were hard when he took Victor in from behind his desk. He was sitting and Victor was standing, but in that moment Yakov truly looked like the man so many cowered from.

"What happens if Eros actually kills you? Did you think of that?"

The question hung in the air for a moment and the implication in it was clear – Eros is playing, he let you live, he could just as well kill you, _don't be a fool_. Suddenly Victor's body turned heavy and cold. His shoulders squared, and in just as cold a voice, he answered:

"Then I'll die. And that's that."

 

 

 

 

"I don't want this," Yuuri whispered.

His lips were pale and trembling, and his vision was blurry as he stared at his reflection in the hotel mirror. Cracked. It was cracked, just like him. Broken. Damaged. Split.

Yuuri ran a hand through his messed up hair, tugging harshly, but the pain was nothing compared to the dull ache at the back of his skull. His head hurt. It _hurt_. It always did.

He pushed the glasses off his face in a jerky, annoyed flip of his wrist. They cluttered down to the cold tiles, possibly cracking to match the state of Yuuri's soul. He left them there while he slumped onto the floor himself. Curled into as small a ball as he could, he wrapped his arms tightly around his head in naive hope that it could save him.

It couldn't.

"I don't want this," he choked out again to no one in particular while the pulsing of the headache grew in his temples. "I can't do this anymore. Please, don't make me..."

There was no one there, just him, but someone had heard him anyway. Someone that Yuuri could never run away from.

"I don't want–"

_–you._

"Too bad, dearie," Yuuri murmured to himself in reply, lowering his hands and rolling onto his back to stare at the bright bathroom lights. He grinned, sharp and nasty. "I do."

 

 

 

 

Despite his words, Victor Nikiforov did not plan to die anytime soon. But he also didn't plan on killing Eros in the nearest future either. In fact, when he finally started looking around – listening to the ghosts of whispers in the right circles, asking people here and there for information, tracking the unresolved murder cases around the world – he couldn't even find the guy, much less point a gun at him.

It frustrated him to no end.

How did Eros disappear so completely? How did he know who Victor was? And most importantly... Why didn't he kill him?

Victor wanted to believe it was his dashing good looks and charming personality, but truly, Eros, as amused by him as he seemed to be, didn't look very interested. Or was _that_ why...?

Victor wanted to ask him so badly about it. If only he could find a trail, something fresh that would lead him to either Yuuri or Eros... but they both were gone without a trace.

As days turned into weeks, Victor became less and less amused. And a bored, unamused Victor meant trouble to the entire team, for which he really did not care much. So, naturally, he kept annoying them in ways only Victor Nikiforov could.

"Plant this on him," Grisha said finally one day when Victor spent an hour moping around the tech lab.

He handed Victor a simple black box case. Brightening up, Victor cracked it open. Inside was a small pin that Victor had no doubt was a tracking device that headquarters could use to keep an eye on Eros' movements.

"Put it anywhere," Grisha was still talking. "We'll be able to get his location as long as it doesn't overheat."

"It can do that?" Victor asked. He snapped the case shut and pocketed it safely.

"It won't unless he drops it into boiling water or an actual fire," Grisha told him in a tone that clearly had more to say about Victor's level of intelligence.

Victor shrugged. He wasn't here to get the scoop on the recent technological advancements.

"It has a very strong adhesive on the back and it's fairly lightweight, so he shouldn't notice it even if you stick it to his pants or his shirt."

"Oh?" Victor's lips quirked at that. "I get to grope our most elusive enemy? Lucky!"

Grisha gave him a look that could rival Yakov's unimpressed stare. He turned, grabbed an injection gun and without even waiting for Victor's consent, lifted up Victor's sleeve and shot him in the arm. Victor hissed at the second of pain, and then pouted.

"You could've asked nicely," he complained.

Grisha expertly ignored Victor's quip.

"We'll be tracking you through the system this time, so you don't get kidnapped. After Boston Yakov demanded this as a backup for the rescue op, if it's needed. Please make sure it isn't." Grisha gave him an exasperated glare. "Retrieving all the tech you're equipped with would be a pain in the ass, so save us the trouble and come back alive."

"You're so sweet, Grisha," Victor grinned. "Wouldn't have pegged you as the caring type."

Once again, he was ignored. It was nothing unusual, they both loved trying each other's patience. And it was even more fun when Victor could see Grisha's eye twitch in annoyance, just like it was doing now.

He chuckled, prodding at the small, almost imperceptible bump on his bicep that now contained microtechnology that could save his life in case of a pinch... or blow his arm off otherwise. How fun.

"Don't prod at it," Grisha barked. "And don't try to take it out either, I'll know it if you do."

Victor quickly lifted his hands up, innocent smile on his face. Grisha rolled his eyes at him.

"Don't forget to call back with the reports this time, either," he added. "It'll be Sasha's head on the line if you fail to comply, not yours. Have some consideration for your colleagues for once in your life, Nikiforov."

"Yes, yes." Victor waved an impatient hand.

Both of them knew that he wouldn't do as asked anyway, it was just a waste of time. Still, Grisha had to say it and Victor had to pretend to care. As always.

"Anything else, mother?"

One of Grisha's eyebrows lifted and he looked positively snide when he said:

"At least _try_ not to get drugged again."

He turned his back on Victor and almost walked out of the lab room before Victor found his voice again.

"It was only once, come on!" he whined. "Are you going to bring it up forever?"

The only reply was a forcefully shut door and the silence of his own sulking. Thankfully, that didn't last long, because as soon as Victor was chased out of the lab he received an email from Yakov with a tip that Eros had just been contracted to eliminate Jean-Jacques Leroy, the Canadian billionaire who was playing God with the lives of thousands by buying out American companies and selling them to the highest bidder – which was usually Russia. It was in their interest to stop Eros, Yakov pressed the importance of it. Twice.

So without any hiccups Victor packed his things and set off for Canada. Facial recognition was working full time back at home and he only now waited for confirmation to where exactly the hit would take place. Leroy's residence was a few miles outside of Calgary, which would've been a perfect place to try if it wasn't so well guarded.

Somehow, Victor doubted Eros would've gone to such lengths, no. He was planning something else.

After landing in Québec, Victor checked his phone for updates, and yes, he was right. Eros wasn't anywhere near Calgary. He was closer to where Victor was, in Montreal, and Victor wasted no time in renting a car to get there. Surveillance cameras placed Eros around the Mont-Saint-Bruno National Park, which Victor knew was just the place to look.

It was almost as if Eros was leading him there on purpose... Victor only hoped it wasn't to kill him.

...

It wasn't.

He was too late, anyway.

Playing a lost husband, Victor found out Yuuri had rented out a cabin room not far from the skiing track. When he got there, slightly out of breath, Eros was already prepared to take a shot. A rifle – one of the Sharpshooter series, Victor noticed – was tucked under his chin, cold metal pressed to his cheek and biting into the juncture of his shoulder as he knelt by the window looking at the snowy track in the distance through the lens. He was fully concentrated and didn't even twitch at Victor's entrance as if he was expecting him all along.  

And a second later, before Victor could even lift his own gun, a sharp crack made the air in the room fizz with tension when Eros pulled the trigger.

Victor stood in the doorway for a moment, breathless. The bullet shell jumped away from the rifle, but Eros continued looking at the ski track. He didn't shoot again. He didn't have to. Once was enough.

Jean-Jacques Leroy was dead, or dying, and Victor was too late.

Eros stood up, spared a glance at Victor and the gun in Victor's hand that he somehow trusted wouldn't fire, and started disassembling the rifle. His hands worked fast and the metal clicked under his touch as if it was a cat purring in pleasure at its master's petting. After he threw all the elements onto a duffel bag, swiped the empty shell of the floor and slung the bag over his shoulder, Eros finally opened his mouth.

"We should go, they'll be checking this room soon," he said, bypassing Victor easily by the door. He turned a curious smirk up at him. "Unless you want to take the fall for me?"

It was the smirk that snapped Victor back to his senses. Before Eros could leave, Victor grabbed him by the arm and pulled: the difference in their build was obvious and Eros' back slammed into the wall beside the door, just how Victor wanted him. Breath was knocked out of Eros' lungs and he greedily sucked in another while Victor pressed the mouth of his gun against Eros' forehead.

"Sweetheart, we don't have time for playing," Eros chided him as if he was the one holding the gun.

"On the contrary, darling," Victor smiled down at him, chilly. "All I have to do is keep you here until JJ's men make it up the stairs and it's game over for you. Honestly, I expected better planning from you. Especially after how you toyed with me in Boston. Are you losing your touch?"

He meant it as an subtle insult, but Eros clearly didn't take it as such. He pushed off the wall, careless of the gun kissing a red mark into his skin, and rested his hands on Victor's hips before he ran them higher, and down again, rubbing at Victor with a cocky grin.

"Ah, you sound like a scorned lover," Eros said, sounding delighted and amused. Victor grit his teeth. "Don't worry, dearie. I only play with those I like. And you..."

Brown eyes glanced up at Victor, coquettish, sweet, beautiful. One of Eros' hands slid up Victor's chest until he could tap his chin with a finger.

"You're my cherry on top of a very delicious cupcake."

Victor didn't have a chance to move before Eros dived under his arm and slipped through the door. He blinked, watching Eros walk down the corridor, and when Eros turned over to him with a "You coming?" on his lips, Victor chased after him. Now that he found him again, he wasn't letting him go so easily, even if Eros had this weird ability that rendered Victor absolutely petrified in the face of his flirting.  

It was ridiculous. It was absurd.

Victor was known for his silver tongue and charisma. He was a master of seduction, for fuck's sake! How could it be possible that whenever Eros was involved Victor's mind turned into mashed potatoes that heated up fresh and steaming with only a glance from Eros' beautiful eyes.

Chasing down the corridor after Eros, Victor couldn't help but notice: Eros was fast. But more than that, he was agile. Victor already suspected it, but when he saw his body really, truly move, he finally got the proof. A proof of a natural born killer with honed reflexes and habits that made him a dangerous foe to face – a thrill of excitement at the possibility of fighting Eros to the death made Victor's blood sing in his veins. His hand clenched reflexively around his gun.

He could take a shot. He could do this now. Eros' head was turned away, his back open and begging for a bullet to lodge itself in his heart. Except... There were voices and heavy footfalls coming their way from somewhere down the corridor. They were completely out in the open with nowhere to hide. Victor tried the nearest door, but they were all key locked.

He snapped his head to the side when a hand landed on his arm hard. Eros pointed to the small partially open storage door not far from them, and they made a mad dash towards it, diving inside just as the voices grew louder. They barely fit in the tight space, pressed together because there was no other choice. The door closed behind them quietly, leaving them in complete darkness.

Footsteps thundered across the wooden boards beneath their feet.

Eros' breath was a quiet whisper against Victor's neck, making it hard to focus on anything else, but he did his best to ignore it. A hard outline of a knife was pressing into his inner thigh where Eros' leg was settled between his knees. That was an even worse thing to fixate on, but once Victor noticed it, he couldn't let it go. His pulse had quickened, but he couldn't decide if it was from this position he'd found himself in, or the running, or both.

He wished it was running.

His breathing was off, too. But how could it not be, with the way every gulp of air made him keenly aware of Eros' closeness. The scent of sweat, leather and gunpowder, Victor knew it all too well. His eyes were adjusting to the darkness and he could make out the beginnings of a dark head right below his chin. Eros was pressed against his chest so close that Victor could take a whiff of his unique scent – his shampoo, soap, shaving cream – without it being too weird and he took the chance without restraint.

It made him dizzy.

And Eros clearly knew it.

When the footsteps outside quieted down and the shouting grew softer, brown eyes lifted from the door to meet Victor's. A smirk was playing on Eros' lips, a playful one, so when he took Victor's wrist Victor didn't protest. Tense and guarded, he let his hand be guided to the lean neck. Eros pressed Victor's thumb to his pulse point, keeping it there and letting him feel the blood thundering inside him.

Victor took a sharp breath, pupils dilated in the dark of the storage room. He opened his mouth to say something, ask what he's been meaning to ask, but his voice got stuck in his throat when Eros pushed himself up, his body sliding over Victor's.

Honestly, Victor didn't know what to expect, but part of him was expecting a kiss. Eros leaned fully into him, however, and bypassed his mouth without a care only to nuzzle his nose against Victor's cheek. It was so out of his depth that Victor _giggled_. He would've slapped a hand over his mouth if he could move it at all, but he couldn't and the sound broke free.

As it was, Eros had heard it, _oh, he had_. He chuckled softly against Victor's cheek and the hot breath tickled Victor's ear in a gentle caress.

It would've been beautiful, it would've been sensual, it would've been the stuff of a romance novel, if Eros didn't press the cold, hard barrel of a gun under Victor's chin in the next moment. Victor froze, all taut, tense muscle. Even if his own gun was pressing hard into Eros' stomach, he couldn't relax. Not when one shot could kill him, and his own only badly injure.

His eyes hardened when he looked into Eros'.

"Why didn't you kill me before?" he asked. If it was his last chance before he was going to die, he wasn't going to waste it. "You had more than once chance in Boston. Why am I alive, Eros? What do you have to gain from this?"

"I have hopes for you," Eros replied, his gaze trailing over Victor's face as if he was admiring a possible investment. It made Victor's blood boil. "High hopes."

"Hopes?" he asked. "What could you possibly–"

A smile tugged on the corner of Eros' mouth, shutting Victor up.

It wasn't a smirk that he was used to seeing, no. It was a smile, somehow soft and fragile, that looked completely out of place on Eros' face. Watching it disappear with widened eyes, Victor realized that that was a smile that Yuuri was wearing in one of Anatoli's pictures. It wasn't an Eros smile, it was a Yuuri smile. For just a moment, it was _Yuuri_ who smiled at him with such yearning...

It was Eros who pushed the gun deeper under his chin. Victor didn't have time to daydream when a metal barrel was digging into his skin and yet he was doing it. The upward force tilted Victor's chin, so he couldn't look Eros in the eye anymore, but he wondered: was it still Eros?

Staring at the ceiling, Victor's mind was running a thousand thoughts per second.

Yuuri was real. He was somewhere in there, somewhere under Eros. Was Eros just the mask he used to hide under? Or was Yuuri the mask? Meant to fool Victor? To confuse him? To cause exactly what was happening now?

Victor's mind reeled at another crazy thought that jumped into his head. Could it be possible that Yuuri and Eros were the same–

Snapping his attention back to the man before him, Victor discarded all thoughts. They did him no good now. All he needed in this situation was his trained reflexes.

Even those couldn't prepare him for the shock that came with a small kiss that Eros pressed to the tip of Victor's chin.

"Catch me, if you can," he told Victor in a taunting voice.

Fast, like a gust of wind, he was out of the door and gone, leaving Victor pressed against the shelves of clean bedding in a cabin in Canada, with the dead body of Jean-Jacques Leroy bleeding into the snow, and a handful of clues that reeked of the promise of a hunt.

Victor covered his wild, excited grin with a hand, a little scared of himself in the moment.

 

 

 

 

"You forgot," Sasha repeated.

"I forgot," Victor confirmed.

"How do you forget to put a tracker on someone you spent days whining about being unable to find?" Sasha asked, incredulous. "Are you a fucking child, Prix? Do we have to send you back to training? Because I swear, first Boston, now this... you're worse than a rookie."

"Hey, it's not my fault!" Victor protested, pouting. "Eros is just very... distracting. And good at what he does." He bit back a moony sigh. "Seriously, why haven't we tried to poach him? Should I give it a go?"

"Don't change the subject," Sasha hissed at him. "You let JJ die, goddamnit. Yakov is pissed at you."

"Yakov's always pissed at me," Victor shrugged, even if Sasha couldn't see him. "And I was too late anyway. Nothing I could've done for the Leroy kid."

"You could've killed Eros. I'm sure Leroy's goons would appreciate the head of their boss' killer in retribution," Sasha pointed out.

And yeah, sure, he was right. Except Victor really couldn't have done what he was suggesting. Not with a gun sucking on his chin, as it was. And Eros pressed flush against him in the small storage room. The very small and dark storage room that had them in each other's space for a divine few minutes during which an actual hitman worth his name would've slipped the tracking device on Eros with no trouble.

Alas, Victor was not a hitman worth his name, apparently.

"I should've tagged him," he whined, rubbing at his face with his the hand he wasn't using to hold his phone. "Sash, why am I like this?"

"That's what I've been asking myself ever since we were assigned together," Sasha huffed at him. "Just get your ass back to HQ, Prix. He didn't kill you. We can try and get back at him again."

Victor closed his eyes. "You're right. I'll be on the first flight back."

Sasha didn't say a word more. The line disconnected with a click. For a moment, Victor listened to the sudden silence that was ringing in his ear, and then he opened his eyes.

Eros didn't kill him. Again.

They say that you don't repeat the same mistake twice. The second time, it's a choice.

Well, now Victor was going to do his damnest to find out why Eros, who had killed so many before him, had chosen to keep him alive. If years spent in this line of work had taught Victor anything, it was that every action had a motive – and he just needed to find what it was that made Eros _tick_.

 

 

 

 

"You're playing with fire," Celestino said over the phone when Yuuri had called to report in on Leroy's hit.

"It's fine," Yuuri mumbled, playing with the strip of his bag. "I'll get it done."

His mind returned to that time he blanked out in the bathroom about a week ago, and to another that happened just a day before when he'd found himself out on the street without knowing where he was or how he got there. It's been a long while since his memory had played tricks like that on him. And there was only one explanation for it – _he_ was waking up.

It would take a lot more for Yuuri to relinquish his control, he was far too happy doing what he did. The very fact that he was stirring, however, disturbed him beyond simple worry.

It's been a while.

He's been such a good, quiet boy. So obedient and shy, keeping to his corner without complaints and only ever coming out when Yuuri allowed it.

Why was he acting out now then? What changed?

Yuuri's lips twitched in a barely there smirk when he realized it: Victor Nikiforov was what changed. _Ah._

"I know what I'm doing," Yuuri assured Celestino with full confidence.

If he wanted to play a game for Victor's attention, Yuuri was more than happy to indulge him. After all, what was life worth without a little bit of danger and fun?

"I hope you do," Celestino sighed and Yuuri was drawn back into the conversation. "But playing with Grand Prix like that... The tables can turn on you faster than you'd notice. He didn't get his reputation by letting someone lead him around by the nose, you know that."

"What are you trying to say?" Yuuri's lips set in a thin line. "I'm not good enough to take him down?"

He knew better than anyone that Grand Prix was more than capable. He might have not shown it in person while dealing with Yuuri, but Yuuri had heard his fair share of whispers over the years. Grand Prix was a legend for a reason. Which was probably what Celestino was trying to say, but his words had cut deep into Yuuri's pride.

"You know that's not true. I wouldn't have assigned you to this case if I didn't have complete trust in your abilities," Celestino appeased. Yuuri hummed. "Still, he's only a means to an end, Eros. You don't have to go this far. There are other ways to get the job done. Many of them without endangering yourself like that."

"Maybe," Yuuri agreed easily. "But none of them are as satisfying."

"Don't let your feelings get in the way," came a sharper warning and Yuuri's back straightened.

"Of course."

Putting his phone back in his pocket, Yuuri scoffed. Feelings? Really.

_Attention all passengers flying to New York on DELTA flight number DL367. Gate B49 has just opened and boarding will begin shortly._

 

 


	3. Do not disturb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [the art included in this chapter ](http://lamenart.tumblr.com/post/171085862600/my-art-for-a-black-heart-of-gold-by-katzuyas-for)was created by the incredible [@lamenart](http://lamenart.tumblr.com/)!! pls make sure to go give any your love if you liked it <3

 

 

Every time Victor caught wind of Eros, it seemed like he was just a step too late. It was frustrating, just like it was that first time over Leroy's death, but somehow it made Victor even more excited for the chase. He loved the thrill. He lived for the small, scattered clues that Eros had been leaving for him.

Sometimes he kissed Eros' cold trail.

Sometimes he faced his retreating back, too far away to follow.

Sometimes he caught a glimpse of the sharp smirk as Eros jumped out the window of the room Victor had just burst into, and sometimes – if he was lucky – Eros would blow him a kiss as he disappeared into the night.

Frustration was one thing. But there was this... pent up energy inside Victor, a rush in his blood, a buzz under his skin, that made him obsessed with Eros. He chased after him like a cat chasing a mouse, and he _enjoyed_ it. For the first time since forever, he truly enjoyed himself on a job.

It wasn't that he wasn't happy before, no. He _was_. But now that he felt his heart beat wildly in expectation, his pulse thrum inside him like a beast ready to jump, his breath stop short and charm him into speechless admiration, Victor knew that _this_ was the true happiness. The true thrill of this line of work. The whole reason he became a hitman in the first place: to feel wanted, to feel alive.

All because of Eros.

Victor grinned to himself. God, he felt like a child – giddy and eager, and enthralled. He almost didn't want to kill him anymore.

Almost.

 

 

 

 

"But I'm busy," he whined again.

"Don't give me that crap," Yakov barked through the phone. Victor pitied Sasha who must have been in the same room as Yakov's nasty scowl. "You're just chasing a dead lead again. You're coming back here and you're taking this assignment. End of discussion."

Victor was pouting now. Which Yakov obviously knew. Their weird friendship slash mentorship went back ages and Yakov knew Victor better than he knew his ex wife. It worked well in times of trouble, but otherwise... it was the trouble in its own name.

There was a sigh from the other end, and then:

"You can go back to chasing after Eros once you're done."

Grinning, Victor chirped back: "You better keep your word, bossman!"

"Just get your ass to London. Rendezvous with Fairy and he'll clue you in," Yakov only grumbled and the line went dead.

Sighing, Victor pulled out a photo from the inner chest pocket of his jacket. He caressed the picture with a finger, smiling fondly to himself. It was an old photo, which he snatched off of Yuuri's high school page, and the sharp features of Eros were all mellowed down with teenage softness. But it was still him.

The lighting was too bright on his glasses, as well, hiding his beautiful eyes from sight, but Victor appreciated it anyway.

"Wait for me, lovely, I'll be right back," he told the photo.

First things first, he had a kill to make.

 

 

 

 

"..ri?"

"Yuuri?"

"Yuuri!"

Yuuri blinked. And flinched. Someone's face was close, way too close, and he immediately backed up a step.

"Wha– _Who_ –"

His wide eyes took in the entire room. Computers. Knives. Bullets. _Guns._

"Where am I?" he whispered, fear gripping at his heart with a greedy hand.

"What do you mean where," the same person said, frown on his face. "Are you feeling okay? You were all spaced out on me before and now you're just acting... weird. What's up with you?"

"I–" Yuuri swallowed hard.

 _Where was he_? What was this place? Out. He needed out.

Thankfully, he spotted the door just then. Hopefully, it lead outside. And if not... if not, anywhere was better than here where _he_ could push Yuuri out at every moment.

"I think I n-need to go. Um, bye!"

He was moving before the words even finished leaving his mouth. He made two steps, three, and then went down as if his legs had simply slipped out from under him. Someone caught him by the elbow to keep him from actually falling, and Yuuri lifted his face to see Phichit gazing at him with unhidden concern.

"What happened?" Yuuri asked, groaning when a sharp needle of pain shot through his head.

"You almost collapsed. Come on, let's sit you down for a second," Phichit said, already guiding him to a chair. "Are you felling faint? Lightheaded? Nauseous? Maybe I should do a blood test just in case."

Yuuri gave a grim smile, slumping into the chair. "I'm fine, Phichit. But thanks."

"Are you sure?" Phichit didn't look convinced at all. "That didn't look normal. Have you been sleeping well? Maybe it's your diet? I've heard of cases when severe indigestion can–"

"I can poop alright, Phichit, thanks," Yuuri snarked back, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. That would hurt too much. Not worth it. "I know what this is. There's nothing you can do. I've had it since I was a kid."

Phichit's frown deepened, if that was possible.

"Is there a cure?" he asked.

"No definite one, but there are ways to stop it," Yuuri said. Then smirked. "I don't really want it to stop, though. The side effects are bearable in the long run."

"What do you mean you don't want–" Phichit cut himself off, and then asked: "Is it terminal?"

"Not really," Yuuri shrugged. "Some of us get suicidal, but I decided to turn the impulse outwards instead. Got some good work out of it, too."

He gave a short amused snort. Phichit wasn't as amused. He flicked Yuuri's forehead with a finger and Yuuri recoiled with a yelp. His headache pulsed harder.

"Here I am, worrying about your ass, and you make it all into a joke." Phichit huffed at him. "If you're fine then get out of here already. Celestino wants to see you before you go."

Massaging one temple, Yuuri lifted his other hand to give Phichit a sloppy salute.

"Sir, yes, sir!"

 

 

 

 

"You've changed," was the first thing Yuri said to him after he stepped into Victor's hotel room.

He put the black suitcase on one of the drawers, zipped it open and pulled out a thick file to thrust into Victor's hands. Victor opened it curiously, looking through the gathered data.

Ashley Gordon, 31, single, daughter of Michael Gordon and Veronica Gordon nee Kinsley. Heiress of a quite prominent IT corporation. No wonder someone wanted her gone.

Beginnings of a plan already began forming in Victor's mind as he closed the folder and threw it on the bed to look through thoroughly later. He turned his attention to the suitcase and Yuri instead, idly looking through the standard equipment.

"What do you mean I've changed?" he asked.

There was nothing outlandish in there, just a few guns, a grenade or two, some sleep inducing drug, a couple of knives... and, at the very bottom of it, inside a second compartment, a brand new, perfectly fitted to suit him tuxedo. Victor's lips quirked.

"You look different," Yuri told him. "There's this air around you. Like you're–"

He stopped himself and it piqued Victor's interest enough to look up from the actually quite gorgeous tux. The light gray jacket would do wonders to bring out the blue of Victor's eyes. He'd have to give Sashka his thanks later.

The disgust on Yuri's face was hard to miss when Victor turned to him.

"Like I'm what?" Victor asked, and Yuri's scowl deepened.

"Like you're _in love_ ," he spat, narrowed eyes boring into Victor. "Which is impossible. I've seen you actually date someone and even then you didn't look so..." He waves a hand at Victor as if that was explanation enough. "And I know you've been in and out on the missions, so you didn't have the time to even think of that gross romance shit. So what's your deal?"

Yuri looked like a child whose toy was refusing to do what it was supposed to. For a second Victor believed he'd get to see the Little Fairy stomp his foot at him, but when Yuri only remained glaring at him and waiting for an explanation Victor made peace with his disappointment.

"Seriously," Yuri started again. "You've only been on the hunt for–"

He stopped abruptly, his eyes widening as he realized something that Victor didn't seem to get yet. Yuri's face contorted in anger, heavily meshed with disgust.

"No. _No,_ " he spat. "Tell me this isn't what I think it is."

"Oh," Victor said, because that was all he could say. His thoughts finally caught up to where Yuri was going and– _Oh._

Could it be...?

The joy, the happiness, the expectation, his unhealthy obsession... It made sense. It _all made sense_.

"Victor, no," Yuri repeated. A warning. "You're not _in love_ with Eros, for fuck's sake!"

"But I am," Victor shook his head, beginnings of a grin on his lips. "I might be. Oh my god, Yuri, you're a genius! Why didn't I think of that before?"

"Okay, no, wait just a goddamn second," Yuri was not having it. In fact, he seemed pissed. "What do you even know about the guy? Apart from the fact he kills idiots like you for money."

He waited a beat to prove to Victor that he was right, but when Victor opened his mouth to tell him that _Eros was a tease,_ that _he smelled like silk and coconut,_ that _he wore a knife strapped to his left thigh_ and that _his eyes were the most beautiful thing Victor had ever seen_ , Yuri tore into his train of thought with vengeance:

"You have to kill him, Victor. It's your fucking job."

Victor waved a careless hand at him. "I will."

He was too busy thinking of Eros' smirk, of how soft and hot his lips were when they pressed so briefly against his chin, of how smooth the skin on his throat felt when he allowed Victor to touch it and how his pulse fluttered like crazy at their closeness – just like Victor's own. Could it really be...?

"Unless you want me to kill him?" Yuri offered when Victor remained silent.

It was nonchalant, arrogant. Exactly how Yuri was, but exactly what Victor did not appreciate, too.

"If you aren't able to finish the–"

"I said," Victor cut him off with a cold glare. " _I will_."

Yuri only huffed, but he said nothing more. He only kept giving Victor glances: some angry, some annoyed, some disgusted, though that Victor was already used to.

 

 

 

 

The party was a bore, as all of them were. The socialites that gathered there were all dressed in expensive gowns, with pretty, painted faces and even more ridiculous jewellery, and Victor fit among them seamlessly. During the first half an hour he already got a few ladies offering him their numbers or, some of the bolder ones, their hotel key cards, but Victor had politely declined all of them.

Until his pray arrived.

She was wearing a long red dress, which by and of itself was stunning, but hung horribly on Ashley's lithe frame. Oh well. Victor wasn't there to appreciate the beauty of his mark.

"Ashley Gordon," a voice next to him said unexpectedly and Victor stiffened on reflex, before he remembered to relax and smile. "Quite a catch, wouldn't you say?"

Victor's smile froze when he recognized the voice.

He was absolutely unprepared for it. Utterly and devastatingly helpless in the face of Eros' smirk, he felt naked, as if he stripped out of his clothes as fast as he'd let his guard down and all but put a loaded gun in Eros' hand. He might as well have, since the man's eyes gleamed bright like only the finest steel would under the massive chandelier above.

Without a word, Eros offered Victor a flute of champagne, twirling another in his other hand. Out of kindness, Victor took it, but he didn't drink. After the way their first meeting had gone, he was far too suspicious of Eros' motives to allow the history to repeat itself.

"It's not drugged, if you're wondering," Eros said, a note of appreciation in his tone at Victor's mistrust.

"Are you working?" Victor asked, sloshing the golden liquid inside the glass, but not drinking it despite Yuuri's reassurances. He wasn't stupid.

Eros, however, had no such problems. He took a sip from his own glass, his eyes half-closing at the taste and head tipping back to bare his pale throat. Victor's eyes greedily followed the prominent Adam's apple that bobbed up and then down when Eros swallowed.

Instead of a sip, Eros drunk his whole glass as Victor watched, parched enough to absently lick his lips. Before he answered, Eros let a serving boy replace his empty glass with a new, full one.

"I am," he finally said. "But no one can live on work alone forever, right?"

He toasted Victor silently and tipped another glass. Victor watched him with slight awe. Either Eros was, indeed, cocky enough to think Victor won't take a shot at his drunk back, or he had an astoundingly high tolerance level. Both possibilities were surprising, and Victor found himself wanting to explore them one by one.

So, despite his misgivings, he took a mouthful of champagne and rolled the taste over his tongue. There were no drugs, or at least none that he could recognize. And when nothing happened after the first minute, he deemed it safe enough to take another sip.

Eros' amused glance made Victor send him a wink. A chuckle was all the reply he got.

"Who are you on tonight?" Victor asked, curious.

He was aware that Ashley was mingling somewhere in the crowd, but he couldn't honestly pursue her when he had this big a fish right next to him, completely willing to stand there with him and lower his guard enough for a chance to take him out.

Plus, Victor smiled into his flute, Eros was far more interesting than some rich girl in an unflattering dress.

In fact, Eros was her complete opposite. His suit was hugging his body in ways that Victor found more than stunningly attractive. It draped across his shoulders and pinched his biceps delightfully when he lifted the glass to his lips. The front and sides of the jacket were embellished with gemstones that could either be real or fake, but Victor couldn't care less either way, because they shimmered in the chandelier lights with such grace that it perfectly brought out the blackness of the material.

That, however, wasn't all. As if the front of the jacket wasn't already a piece of art, the back of the jacket was beautifully cut open and Victor's gaze lingered there as soon as he noticed it. Lean muscle hidden under the creamy canvas of Eros' skin made it difficult to focus on anything else. With how close to each other they stood, Victor could feel the heat of Eros' body seep into his bones from the open space on his back and he had to try really hard to stop himself from placing his hand right on the small of Yuuri's back where the cut ended in a little ruff.

Unable to help it, he let himself indulge in a fantasy of pushing his fingers under the material, cut so low that it barely covered Eros' tailbone. He'd caress the lines of his muscles, all of his back, until he'd reach the neck and slip his fingers into the knot of the–

"That tie is hideous, by the way," Victor said, curling his lip with distaste as he was harshly ripped out of his fantasy world. What a wakeup call. "Let me burn it after tonight."

Eros laughed at that quietly, his eyes twinkling in the chandelier lights. "Sure, you can have a go at it."

The easy agreement made something warm churn in Victor's stomach, something that for sure wasn't champagne. He downed his glass, trying not to think of it now, because Yuri's words were still fresh in his mind and he couldn't melt down now. He had a job to do. Even if Eros' ass looked like pure temptation and his thighs reminded Victor of a certain storage room in Canada.

"See that old guy with the mahogany cane?" Eros asked, pointing subtly with his chin to the left where over his shoulder Victor could, indeed, see a guy with said cane. "Got filthy rich by offing his wife. Her sister isn't a fan."

"Family," Victor sighed dramatically.

Eros tipped over his sixth flute. His cheeks were flushed a little, but not enough to call him drunk. He looked so alive, so young and vibrant, that Victor couldn't help admiring him.

It came as a surprise when Eros touched him. Warm fingers on Victor's cold hand sent sparks across his skin. Victor's breath stuttered.

"Do you dance?" Eros asked, an eyebrow raised in challenge.

For a moment Victor forgot the tongue in his mouth. His heart was beating hard in his chest, alcohol and excitement burning in his veins. This, this was exactly why Eros was so unique. This was exactly why Victor was so drawn to him. This was exactly why he was in lov–

"Oh, you're on." Victor grinned, taking the warm hand and leading him onto the dance floor, just so he could shut up the thoughts in his head.

A few pairs were dancing already, but they found their spot easily. The music was slow, classy, and they moved in a slow waltz. Even though Victor was the one who was leading in the start, somewhere along the way, after one of the turns, Eros changed the steps and without faltering, Victor followed on instinct. A glimmer of pleasure in brown eyes looking straight into his was far more intimate than anything they'd done before. Pleasure ran over Victor's spine like a rub of a content hand. It was silly, but the feeling was so nice that Victor preened.

 

 

 

 

They danced, song after another, somehow getting closer and closer with each, until their joined hands were resting against Victor's chest and Eros' cheek – was it still Eros? or could it have been Yuuri? – was pressed to Victor's shoulder. In a soft voice, Eros was humming the melody as they swayed from side to side.

If it were up to him, Victor wouldn't have moved from the spot, not a chance. Eros, _Yuuri_ , fit in his arms perfectly, tucked in and comfy, a warm presence that melted across Victor's hardened skin. He could feel the gun hanging in the holster under Yuuri's arm, but as long as it wasn't trained on him, he didn't mind it. He would be a hypocrite if he did.

Yuri was right.

Victor was a fool.

And he was falling.

A glimpse of a red dress caught his eye and he turned his head. Ashley was leaving the party, her bodyguards in tow, and if Victor wanted to deal with it fast, now was the time.

But he didn't want to leave.

He tensed up, torn between a job and... what exactly?

When he glanced down, Eros was watching him as if he knew what was going on inside his head. Slightly sheepish, god only knew why, Victor smiled. An excuse ready on his tongue, he opened his mouth, but Eros shook his head.

"Go," he said, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Have your fun."

He climbed onto his toes and pressed a quick kiss to the corner of Victor's mouth, which in and of itself stopped Victor's heart for a second longer. He felt something slip into a pocket of his jacket, but Eros was already turning away from him.

And Victor had to go.

With one last longing glance at Eros' back, he chased after his pray.

 

 

 

 

Before the car could leave the driveway, Yuuri pushed past the two muscles in cheap suits, threw the back door of the limo open and jumped in, quickly locking the door after himself while the goons struggled to open it. The partition dividing the driver from the passengers was down, perfect luck. Yuuri twisted in his seat and put his gun right to the back of the driver's head.

"Go," he ordered.

The poor man changed the drives with a trembling hand and the car jumped down the driveway to the screams of the goons that were left behind. When they left the general vicinity of the estate, Yuuri pulled back the gun and turned around to face the person he was getting paid to eliminate.

He smiled.

"Mr. Abernathy," Yuuri greeted the man pleasantly. "I hope you don't mind, I'll be hitching a ride with you till we get to the city."

"If you must," the man huffed.

He seemed unbothered by the gun that Yuuri now held loosely in his lap. What a curious gold digger, Yuuri thought. Fearless? Hardly. He was probably only good at masking his true feelings.

"Who sent you, boy?" Abernathy asked. "I bet it was that bitch Felicia. She's always had it out for me, even when I was still married to that whore, her sister."

Yuuri slow clapped for him. "Astounding power of deduction."

The man snorted. He tapped the head of his cane against his palm, but his beady eyes were shrewedly focused on Yuuri's face. He seemed to be measuring Yuuri's worth and whatever he saw, had him say next:

"However much she's paying you, I can pay more."

Yuuri's lips quirked against his own will. He cocked his head to the side. If he played it right maybe he could afford some time off in the near future... he could use a vacation. A trip home would be nice, too. Hmm...

"And how much do you think your life is worth, old man?" Yuuri asked.

"Ten million," was a quick reply that had Yuuri laugh.

"Oh, that's so little." He smiled indulgently. "I'm sure you can do better. I heard you got quite a bit more from your late wife's insurance alone. Don't be stingy on me now."

Abernathy leaned back in his seat. He probably tried to look at ease, but Yuuri could see the twitch of his fingers on the wooden cane. This was too easy.

"Fifteen," Abernathy offered.

Yuuri cocked his head to the side, "Twenty."

The old man's face contorted in anger. Before Yuuri could even open his mouth to chide him, his features smoothed out, though. A bit impressive, even Yuuri had to admit. He offered Abernathy a sweet smile.

"Do we have a deal?"

"Fine," Abernathy snapped. "I'll wire you the money tomorrow, leave me the numbers."

Yuuri chuckled. "Do I look stupid to you? Why would I agree to that?"

"You do look like someone's boy toy," Abernathy sneered. "Alas, I know better than to comment on that."

"You really do," Yuuri agreed with a sharp smile.

He plucked a scrap of paper with the number of the untraceable account that would then wire the money directly into Yuuri's private account in the Caymans. 

"Do it now," he said, handing the note to Abernathy. "I'll wait. We have a long way to the city, still."

He put his hand back on the gun and began humming to himself. For a moment Abernathy just sat there. And then he gave a heavy sigh. He plucked his phone out of his pocket, dialled a number, and then:

"It's me. I need you to wire 20 mil to this number, write it down."

Yuuri's phone pinged a whole ten minutes later, just as they were closing in on the city border. Yuuri checked his account and true to Abernathy's word, the money was there. Yuuri lifted his head to send the old man another sweet smile.

"Pleasure doing business with you, dearie," he crooned. And then turned to the driver: "Stop for a second, love, I'll take a walk. Somehow, I'm feeling the mood for it."

The car obediently stopped at the verge of the road and Yuuri climbed out. Before he closed the door, though, he turned and smiled at Abernathy again.

"Come now, close the door, boy," the man barked. "It's cold out–"

Yuuri trained his gun on him and pulled the trigger without any scruples. There was a scream from the driver, who jumped out of the car just as Yuuri closed the door on his side. They were on the opposite sides of the car and when the scared man began running for the surrounding woods, Yuuri felt his annoyance spike.

"I have a date tonight, you ass, stop running or I'll be late!"

The driver, predictably, didn't stop. Yuuri rubbed at his forehead which began to itch with an upcoming headache.

"You stay down there," Yuuri told no one in particular. "Today, I'm player one."

He turned and chased after his running prey.

 

 

 

 

"On one hand, I'm grateful," Victor was saying as he paced in front of the huge hotel bed in the Grand Suite at the London's Four Seasons. "I got to meet him because I was assigned this job. If it wasn't for that we probably would've had to wait a lot longer and I wouldn't have gotten the opportunity to dance with him – it was amazing, by the way, thanks for asking!"

He grinned dreamily, remembering the way Eros' body moved pressed against his own as they twirled around the dance floor. It was honestly quite magical. Victor felt a little like Cinderella, swept off his feet and charmed beyond simple logic.

"But then _on the other hand_ ," he continued, "you couldn't have waited a bit longer to leave? We were getting along so well! I'm sure a few more minutes wouldn't have hurt you."

He pouted at the tied, terrified Ashley Gordon who was staring at him with wide, tearful eyes. She was lying on the bed, exactly where Victor had thrown her. She didn't even twitch, except for her sobbing that was thankfully muffled by the gag in her mouth. Her two bodyguards were dead somewhere by the door, one slumped against the wall, the other face down on the floor in the pool of his own blood.

And Victor continued ranting.

"But no matter, no matter, all's forgiven between friends. And look!" He took out the key card from his pocket. "He slipped me the card as I was leaving! What do you think it means?"

He looked the card over. Bulgari Hotel, suite 7C. Was this really what Victor thought, _hoped_ , it was? Or was Eros just taunting him again?

"Do you think he wants to sleep with me?" he asked Ashley, who only whimpered in reply. "I mean, sure, you're right, I'm me. I know I'm good looking and all, but this is _Eros_. He can have anyone he wants. Does this," He waved the key card around, "mean he wants me? Ashley, girl, please. I'm desperate here!"

She only sobbed and Victor bit his lip. Eros was so frustrating. Surely, Yuuri was the more honest of the two. Eros was just a damn tease.

And yet, Victor loved every minute of it.

"Oh well," he finally sighed. "No other way than to go there and actually see for myself, right?"

He slipped the card back into his pocket and plucked out his gun from the holster. The safety clicked and Ashley's muffled whimpers grew louder as she tried to scramble away from him on the large bed.

"Now, now," Victor chided. "It won't hurt if you don't move."

She looked at him with wet eyes, mascara smudged in black stains, but it made no difference. With the silencer on, there was almost no noise when Victor pulled the trigger. A short zap was all he heard at the same moment as the bullet hit the mark right in the middle of her forehead. She dropped dead on the pillows, her blood splattering on the wall and the bed behind her.

Stepping over the bodies of the bodyguards, Victor left without a glance back. The DO NOT DISTURB sign swung on the handle of the door when it softly snapped shut behind him.  

 

 


	4. Stamps

 

 

Yuuri looked over the room again.

Drinks on the table, check. Subtle background music, check. New sheets on the bed, check. Bathrobe seductively loosened, check.

On his way back to the hotel he believed he was running late, but it seemed like Victor took his sweet time with his own hunt too, so Yuuri managed to finish all his prep, take a shower, and wash all the blood and dirt off of him just in time. He swept his gaze over everything once more, drying his hair with a spare towel.

It was perfect.

Now he simply needed the main course to arrive...

A look at his laptop screen told him that, yes, Victor was still standing before his door. He didn't knock, didn't swipe the card he'd been given, nothing. Just stood there in silence as if his feet had brought him there without his permission and he hadn't decided yet if he should follow through with this.

Yuuri frowned a little, but shrugged it off. If Victor was doubting Yuuri's intensions – rightfully so – it was Yuuri's cue to ease him into a semblance of peace. He needed Victor to trust him, after all.

Pushing back his still damp hair, Yuuri let a few droplets of water roll down his neck, and then he moved to the door. He opened it and leaned against the frame. The robe belt loosened further and the silky fabric slipped a little to show off Yuuri's collarbone, where Victor's eyes immediately settled.

Yuuri smirked.

"Hello, stranger," he said, tone light with amusement unlike his seductive pose. "What are you standing here for? Wanna come in?"

For a moment there he thought Victor would refuse. There was hunger in his eyes, dilated already so the blue was only a single ring around his pupil. Despite that, Victor was tense, almost prepared to run at the slightest noise.

Now that wouldn't do, Yuuri thought and, smiling invitingly, he opened the door further.

"Don't leave me hanging, dearie."

He left the door open and walked back to the sitting area. He could feel Victor's heavy gaze following after him, following, following...

The door clicked shut. Hook, line, and sinker.

"How did you know I was there?" Victor asked while Yuuri poured them both a glass of champagne.

He gave Victor a moment to look around, mark all the possible dangers and exit routes, and then turned. His feet padded softly across the carpeted floor. Victor took the glass without a word, searching Yuuri's face for something. Yuuri didn't know if he found it or not, but the heat in Victor's eyes was unmistakable, which made Yuuri a little miffed to notice how pleased with himself he felt.

Yuuri lifted his glass, smirking lightly to mask his own surprise.

"I hacked the hotel cameras," he admitted with no shame whatsoever and Victor's lips twitched as if he was trying not to smile, because _of course he had_.

Yuuri drank from his flute slowly, looking up at Victor through his eyelashes. He seemed to be under Yuuri's thrall, and maybe even without going through all of this Yuuri could've had him, but despite Celestino's numerous warnings, Yuuri found himself wanting more. He knew it could turn against him at any moment, but... wasn't that reason enough to dive head first into it while he still could? While he was still alive enough to feel the euphoria of the danger he was playing with?

"So what are we doing here today?" Victor asked, seeming to have recovered a little. His usual charm was back and he smiled at Yuuri.

Grinning, Yuuri set his flute on the coffee table.

"We're here to look at my collection of stamps," he said in as serious a tone as he could manage.

It startled a small laugh out of Victor and Yuuri basked in the sound. Surprisingly, it was very sweet and light, and Yuuri allowed himself a tiny genuine smile. He took Victor's hand, locked their fingers together without giving himself time to think about how perfectly they fit and led Victor to the bedroom.

Yuuri left him in the doorway and jumped onto the bed, completely aware of the way the bathrobe rode up his bare thighs when he reached over to the nightstand for his stamp holder. The gobsmacked expression on Victor's face was priceless when Yuuri popped it open and looked back at him. He laughed, bright and clear, honestly amused.

And he laughed, and laughed, and what seemed to have been just a bad case of giggles turned into a full attack. Yuuri was helpless to stop it, so he let it go on for as long as it had to before he collapsed onto the bed in a boneless heap. The grin remained on his face, though, and it seemed to snap Victor back to reality.

Victor came up to the bed, reaching out for the holder. It was, indeed, full of stamps. Yuuri wasn't kidding about his stamps. Never.

"Oh my god," Victor whined, his cheeks turning red. "I thought you meant–"

He stopped himself, which made Yuuri chuckle again. Yuuri patted the place on the bed next to him, turning onto his stomach and pushing the holder further up to make more space. Victor settled next to him, his blush slowly disappearing, but just the fact that it had been there and that _Yuuri_ had caused it was delicious enough.

"Don't laugh at my stamps," Yuuri warned, as if he didn't know what Victor was about to say before. "In our line of work, with all the travelling and everything, I'm pretty sure you have a collection of quite a few things too."

"Yeah, I do," Victor laughed. "You know me so well."

There was an unspoken challenge in those words, but Yuuri didn't even bat an eye at it. Victor's laughter was an easy sound, light, and Yuuri felt like every little detail he had put into the plan was finally bringing results – this was the breaking point.

"I do try," Yuuri replied with a smirk.

He reached out to flip a few pages and then stopped at one. Pointing his finger at the big maple leaf, he grinned cheekily at Victor.

"Remember Canada?"

Victor grinned back. "How could I ever forget?"

Yes, Yuuri smiled into the hand that was supporting his chin. How, indeed.

 

 

 

 

Victor was a fool. He blinded himself with his own feelings and hadn't even stopped for a moment to consider Yuuri's, Eros', whoever he was dealing at the moment, which... was incredibly stupid of him.

He could hardly blame himself for it, though. Seeing Eros in a hotel issued bathrobe, cheeks flushed from the heat of the shower, and droplets of water from his still wet hair dripping down his neck and sliding down under the shoulder of the robe that was slipping with Eros' every move only to show more of his beautiful, creamy skin... What else could Victor do except think of pulling him right into a kiss? A feverish, passionate kiss that would surely land them both in bed.

He didn't expect that the stamps were actually a real thing, not until Eros brought out the holder. Victor felt like a horny teenager in that moment, someone who only ever has sex on his mind, and so he stuffed the more heated thoughts to the back of his head with a guilty flush that Eros' eyes ate up with a sparkle.

They did land in bed _anyway_.

Eros lived to surprise him, Victor was starting to believe. The stamps were a pleasant one, something he honestly didn't expect. It was almost as if Yuuri was giving him a glimpse into his life, letting him in like... like a friend. Like someone he was close to. Victor felt a little overwhelmed with the trust placed in him.

He felt far more overwhelmed when Eros leaned over the stamp album and kissed him.

It wasn't Victor's most spectacular kiss, no. It wasn't even the second best. Maybe third, or fourth. But the fact that Eros was kissing him, that _Yuuri_ was kissing him, made up for it. Soft, soft lips, tasting of good champagne, pressed against his tentatively, as if asking if it was alright with him, and _oh_ , it was more than alright.

Victor kissed him in return, unwilling to let him go once he got him. Gently, he pushed Yuuri onto his back and Yuuri went willingly. Victor's hand moved on its own to the pale throat, where he stroked the lean column with his thumb, briefly thinking about how easy it would be to just clench his hand around it, press in the right spot and choke the life out of Eros' lungs...

He didn't do it.

He kissed Eros deeper instead, parting the sweet lips with his tongue and revelling in the small moan Yuuri gave in appreciation. Yuuri's hands lifted to Victor's hair and slipped into the locks, desperate to pull Victor down, down, down, as if he wanted to melt their faces together.

Victor wanted that, too.

The body underneath him was pliant, but the hard, springy feel of muscle made his spine tingle and heat crawl right to his groin. Yuuri's kisses were all like that first one, soft and tender, but the more they kissed, the more Victor recognized Eros waking into it like a lazy kitten from an afternoon nap – the fierce passion, unyielding heat, breathy moans came with him and stole every drop of reason from Victor's being.

There was always two of them, it seemed, Yuuri and Eros. Changing places, playing, leading him on a chase that Victor didn't mind subjecting himself to. If the prize was this, Eros arching his neck when Victor nipped at the tender flesh of his jaw, he was happy to continue this game of figuring out who's who until he finally won. And he was sure the prize would be as delicious as the taste of Yuuri's skin.

Victor kissed down the pale throat, sunk his teeth into it, tasting Yuuri's on his tongue. Never, not in his wildest fantasies, would Victor ever think this was going to happen, but it was. He was going to sleep with the enemy, and he was going to enjoy it while it lasted.

The fingers in his hair tightened and pulled, urging him on, so very real.

It was happening.

And his heart was beating out of his chest, pumping blood up to his face and down, straight to his growing arousal.

Flushed, and slightly dizzy, Victor pulled up to look into Yuuri's face. His cheeks were as flushed as Victor's and his lips were red, parted on shallow breaths, and wet. Victor wondered if his own looked just as delectable. Absently, he licked at them, and caught the way Yuuri's eyes snapped to the movement immediately.

It was such a small thing, but Victor's body grew even hotter than before with how pleased that minuscule detail made him.

"What happened to showing me the stamps?" he asked, a little teasing.

Yuuri's smile turned sharp, an Eros smile, when he reached a hand down to unravel the belt that barely even held his robe together anymore. Victor's mind went blank for just a moment as he stared at Yuuri, who pushed the bathrobe apart to bare his chest fully. There were scars here and there, some pale, a few still healing, and bruises – a picture that reminded Victor well of his own body.

Yuuri lifted a finger and caressed a small scar right above his left nipple.

"Prague, Tereza Zahradnik," he said and Victor immediately connected the name to the assassination of one of the most prominent Czech figures of the century.

Yuuri moved his hand lower, over his ribs on the opposite side. There was an ugly bullet scar, faded and old. Victor traced it with his own fingers, imagining the pain it must have brought. Likely, the bullet lodged itself between Yuuri's ribs. Hardly painless...

"Bao Chen," Yuuri supplied.

Victor whistled quietly. "Impressive."

Yuuri only chuckled.

Victor's eyes raked across his open chest, fingers trailing from one scar to another, mesmerized. Yuuri let him, seemingly content with just letting him see. But Victor wasn't. He leaned down and pressed his mouth against every scar, against every bruise, trailed his lips over all the hurt and damaged tissue, well aware of how Yuuri arched into his touch when he moved down his chest.

Kiss after kiss, sigh after sigh, Victor slipped down the agile body coiling beneath him like a panther preening in the sun. Before Victor could make it to the strategically hidden, already quite visible arousal beneath the final scrap of the bathrobe, Yuuri took back the control of the situation. He flipped them over easily, straddling Victor's hips, and Victor couldn't deny that the weight of Yuuri's thighs on his legs felt incredible.

Yuuri dived in to steal a hungry, desperate kiss from his lips that awoke Victor's own cravings with terrifying ease. He was letting his guard down faster than he ever had, Victor knew, but he was too busy slipping his hands down Yuuri's sides to care about anything, much less some ridiculous fears. In that moment there was only this, only him and Yuuri and their bodies, and nothing else. Eros could've slashed his throat that very second and Victor... he wouldn't have cared at all, as long as his dying breath was pressed against those sweet lips.

Rubbing his hands over Yuuri's still robed back, Victor closed his eyes. Yuuri was nipping at his jaw, leaving lush hickeys all over his neck, while his hand was clumsily working on Victor's bowtie. The buttons of the shirt went easier and soon Victor's chest was bared as well, the drag of warm skin on his making him sigh blissfully.

Yuuri sat back for a moment, admiring. His hand traced the outline of the huge scar on Victor's chest, starting at his ribs and dipping down under the hem of his pants until it reached his hip. An ugly reminder of his biggest kill.

"Mimura Iechika," Yuuri whispered before Victor could say the name.

Surprised, he looked into warm, brown eyes. "How did you know?"

"He was Japanese," Yuuri gave a small smile. "It was his kill that made me a fan of yours."

Heart skipping a bit, Victor leaned up on his elbows. "Oh? A fan, you say?"

"Avid fan," Yuuri confirmed, his hand slipping to the side until his fingers popped the button of Victor's pants.

Victor laughed quietly. He reached up, and while Yuuri pushed the zipper down, Victor pulled him into a kiss. Yuuri's hand, even through the material of his pants, felt wonderful on his growing erection. Warm, just enough pressure, and Victor didn't want it gone. Ever.

They broke the kiss, staying close. Yuuri's hand stilled on Victor's groin and Victor was about to whine at the lack of progress, but Yuuri's eyes were bright and looking straight into his as if searching for something. He looked back, open to anything and willing to follow Yuuri's lead.

But Yuuri didn't ask for anything.

He only kissed Victor again, before slipping off his lap.

"Undress," he said over his shoulder as he picked lube and a string of condoms from one of the drawers.

Victor didn't remember ever losing his clothes that fast. It was actually quite funny how eager he was for this, but hell, who could've blamed him? He giggled like a giddy schoolgirl when Yuuri turned around and Victor was already naked and ready. Yuuri's expression betrayed his amusement, and when they climbed onto the bed again they were smiling into each other's lips.

It was incredible how it could be so silly like this.

It was simply mind-blowing.

Victor didn't expect sex with Eros to be this much fun.

Oh, of course he knew he was going to enjoy it, no matter how it happened. But he imagined it'd be hot and steamy, dangerous and thrilling. This... was anything but. And somehow Victor knew that it was because this wasn't Eros, this was _Yuuri_. They were both the same person, and yet not. Victor had trouble telling who he wanted more – the teasing Eros, or the sweet Yuuri; so being the greedy man he was, he decided he wanted both.

Yuuri climbed onto his lap again and the touch of his skin on Victor's sent a pleasurable shiver straight to Victor's cock. They groaned in unison when Yuuri slid further up Victor's legs and ground himself on Victor. The feeling was too powerful, too electric. Victor didn't know if Yuuri was feeling the sparks that danced across Victor's skin, but he could see in Yuuri's wide-blown eyes that he was feeling _something_.

"You or me?" Yuuri asked, holding out the bottle of lube. Victor snatched it without answering.

Coating his fingers he didn't take his eyes away from Yuuri who was looking at him in the way Victor imagined was a reflection of his own desire. God, _he wanted him_.  

Victor slipped his slicked fingers under the side of the robe that barely hung on Yuuri's shoulders like a shawl and brushed the tips of his fingers across the puckered hole. Yuuri shivered visibly, leaning back into Victor's touch, which made Victor's dick twitch in need. He breathed in deeply for control and pulled Yuuri towards himself so he could rest against his shoulder. Gently, Victor continued to rub the lube into the small entrance. Yuuri's shivers seeped into his own body and with growing delight Victor noticed that the tremors seemed to have made his own skin break into goosebumps of anticipation.

"Ready?" he asked, turning his head so he could kiss Yuuri's forehead if he wanted to.

And he wanted to. So he did.

Yuuri shivered again. "Just do it, don't be a tease."

Victor chuckled. Coming from Eros, it was hilarious. He obeyed the plea, however, slipping a single digit into the tight passage. Yuuri's uneven gasp made Victor's own breath stutter. The muscles clenched around his finger reflexively and Victor groaned as his mind already let him imagine what it would feel like to slip his cock into Yuuri.

Slowly, and with great effort to keep the pace down, he pushed on. Yuuri's breath on his collarbone was really distracting, but so was the way he moved his body, meeting Victor's finger and rubbing against his hard cock simultaneously. Without thinking much, Victor added another finger to the sound of Yuuri's appreciative moaning. Sinking his fingers into the velvety soft insides, hot and wet, so willing and ready, Victor had trouble thinking of anything else but Yuuri's body.

It would be like Eros to stab him in the gut right about now, but unlike Eros, Yuuri was soft and heavy in Victor's arms. He pushed his hips down onto Victor's hand, growing more vocal and needy, and Victor... Victor was a dead man walking.

He groaned when Yuuri arched his back without slowing down and sucked on the side of Victor's neck, fucking himself open on Victor's fingers.

"Yuuri," Victor whined, needy, hard, hot.

He'd never said his name out loud, his real name, the one he was born with. It was always Eros in his head or otherwise. But now that Victor did, it seemed like a well of sorts had broken inside him and the flood of moans spilling from Yuuri's lips began to burn on Victor's skin like hellfire.

"More," Yuuri moaned, rubbing his swollen red dick against Victor's abdomen. "Please, more... I need-"

He broke off when Victor's third finger entered him. It lasted maybe a heartbeat of surprise and then Yuuri was grinding onto his hand with the same fierce passion, panting and leaving sloppy, open-mouthed kisses across Victor's neck, jaw, face, until Victor tipped his chin down to catch his lips. A groan rolling off Yuuri's tongue sunk deep into Victor's chest – a hot, sizzling pleasure.

He curled his fingers inside Yuuri, revelling in the way Yuuri's nails raked his skin, leaving marks. Marks that like their scars would mean something special.

London, Victor Nikiforov.

That was what Victor wanted Yuuri to remember from this.

When Yuuri's breathing turned into choked whimpers and his body started tensing up, Victor pulled his fingers out. Before Yuuri could voice his complaint, Victor rolled him over into the sheets and kissed him deeply. Yuuri went pliant under him, pressed into the mattress by Victor's body upon his. His arms wound around Victor's shoulders, pulling him in, in, in...

Victor hurried to slip the condom on. Yuuri parted his legs wide and looked at him: eyes burning, lips wet, cheeks flushed. His chest was heaving with shaky breaths and his beautiful, pink cock was touching his stomach in an alluring arch. The edges of the gaping hole where Victor's fingers were just seconds ago twitched uncontrollably when Victor's gaze slid there.

"Victor, please..."

His name never tasted sweeter on anyone's lips and pulled a loud keen right from Victor's mouth.

Without wasting another moment, Victor settled between Yuuri's legs and lifted one to put on his shoulder. It came as no surprise that Yuuri was _really_ flexible. Victor had always suspected it and now he finally had the proof of it: the proof that the night was only going to get more and more exciting. He took his cock in hand and pushed inside the tight warmth of Yuuri's ass, groaning at the same time as Yuuri moaned.

He wanted to go slow. He was planning to.

But Yuuri wouldn't have it.

"Move, move, oh god, move," Yuuri babbled in a needy voice that made Victor's insides hotter than molten gold. Yuuri grabbed Victor's bicep with one hand, squeezing hard, as he continued to pant: "Victor, move, please, I can't wait, just move..."

So Victor did the only thing he could – he moved. Yuuri's chant of his name broke off with a groan. It wasn't a pained sound and with that adding to his confidence, Victor continued moving in shallow thrusts that gained depth and power the more Yuuri moaned.

"You feel so good," Victor praised, sinking inside. His eyes were half closed at the pleasure of the tight heat engulfing him. " _Yuuri_. Yuuri, you're amazing."

The knee slung over his shoulder bent and the heel of Yuuri's foot pressed into Victor's spine to push him deeper inside. Hips snapping against Yuuri, the sound loud and dirty in the quiet room, Victor found he couldn't breathe.

This was not what he imagined. This was not what he wanted when he took this job. So how did this happen? How did it come to this?

He didn't know. He couldn't figure it out.

But he knew that this was where he wanted to be. Right inside the beauty trashing under him in the throes of passion and calling out his name, his real name, in a voice that begged him to go harder, faster, _more_.

And Victor was happy to oblige.

He pushed himself deeper, thrust by thrust, until he could fit his entire cock inside. With a shiver, he paused as he leaned down. His arms were braced in the sheets on both sides of Yuuri's shoulders and he dipped down to kiss Yuuri's open mouth. He had to, he wanted to. Those sweet lips calling out his name were going to be his death, he knew, but at the moment all that he wanted was to taste them again and drink Yuuri's pleasure right from the source.

Yuuri's arm wound around Victor and he returned the kiss with greedy abandon. Panting against Yuuri's mouth, Victor's hazy gaze locked with darkened with lust eyes that looked as drunk on pleasure as Victor felt.

"Touch yourself for me," Victor begged. A desperation to see Yuuri coming under him burned in his veins with torturous heat.

Yuuri moaned at the plea. His hand reached down fast, curling around his dick. The movements were jerky and careless, but with the precum already leaking from the red, swollen tip Victor couldn't blame him. He was close himself as well: too tight, too tense, too coiled to last much longer.

Even with all the stimulation, Victor came first. His breathing hitched and with a whine he thrust into Yuuri deeply, before he stilled as orgasm hit him hard enough to make his head spin. Yuuri groaned and arched back, and with a couple more strokes he was there, too – Victor moaned hotly at the sudden clenching around his sensitive length, but he didn't pull out. It felt so good inside, he couldn't bring himself to do it.

Only when Yuuri collapsed back onto the sheets, boneless, did Victor consider moving. Carefully, he let his limp dick slip out of Yuuri's ass. Before he could move out of the bed to discard the used condom, Yuuri was sitting up and pulling him into a deep kiss. His tongue rolled luxuriously over Victor's and elicited a moan from him that Victor was too blissed out to keep down. Yuuri's thumb wiped Victor's lover lip where a line of spit connected them as they pulled apart.

They didn't say anything in words, but the look in Yuuri's eyes was something new. There was a sort of conflicted fondness in it, something deeper than just the aftermath of a good fuck, and Victor kissed him again. Yuuri didn't need to think about anything else right now.

All he needed was to feel, and feel good.

 

 

 

 

It was always strange, switching. Yuuri never knew when it would happen, only when it was already happening. His head always hurt, that was a dead giveaway. Another one was the surprising blanks in his memory. The third: concerned and shocked faces of the people who happened to witness the whole thing.

But sometimes, there was none of that. Sometimes it was just a blink... and he was there.

And there, this time, was in bed with a gorgeous stranger who was gazing at Yuuri with a tender look on his beautiful, flushed face. Yuuri sucked in a sharp breath, frozen. The fear of the unknown environment, unknown man, unknown situation was a familiar burn in Yuuri's chest.

"Say it again," the man asked and Yuuri panicked.

Say what? Again? What did he say before? Where was he? And why–

The stranger was naked, and it didn't take Yuuri longer than two rapid heartbeats to see that he was too. He swallowed hard, trying not to think about it. His thoughts turned to the man instead. He was a stranger, Yuuri was sure he'd never met him before. And yet... there was something familiar about him. Almost as if Yuuri had met him somewhere before, a long time ago, or in a dream, maybe.

"Yuuri," the man called his name and Yuuri's eyes snapped up to meet his: they were blue, beautiful and alight with an emotion Yuuri was too distracted to interpret. "Say my name again."

Yuuri opened his mouth, and then closed it.

Did he know him? He didn't remember. Should he know his name? Were they friends? More than...? The man shifted up on his elbow and hovered over Yuuri. He was handsome, the kind of handsome you see on models and movie stars. What was someone like that doing in bed with Yuuri? How did that happen? _What did he do_?

His lips parted on a panicked breath.

"I– I'm sorry," he managed to force out. "I don't know–"

–you.

He didn't. He shouldn't. This was the first time he was seeing this man and as far as first meetings go, he was certain he'd never forget him, but right now he shouldn't know anything about him.

And yet...

Yuuri licked his lips when _he_ whispered to him.

"Victor," he said, looking into blue, starlit eyes.

Victor smiled.

"Again, please," he asked.

"Victor," Yuuri repeated.

How did he know that? Why did he know that? Who was this man to him? Who was Yuuri to him?

"Yuuri," Victor said and Yuuri couldn't believe how good his own name sounded curled around Victor's Russian accent. "Yuuri."

Yuuri breathed. "Victor."

Victor's smile was bright, even if it was only a small curl in the corner of his mouth: his eyes smiled for him. Yuuri stared at his smile, bewitched. He didn't even notice when he lifted one hand to touch Victor's face, rub his thumb against the edge of that smile. Only when it widened into something more, something fuller, did Yuuri realize what he'd done.

Immediately, he pulled his hand back, blushing to the tips of his ears.

"S-sorry," he mumbled out.

He dropped his gaze to Victor's naked chest, but Victor's own hand moved and pulled his chin up so their eyes could meet again. Victor's twinkled playfully. He was truly a sight.

How did Yuuri fool him into being here...?

"To think I'd see the day where the infamous Eros blushes and apologizes in the same sentence," Victor said, dipping his head down so his lips hovered right above Yuuri's. "I'm a lucky guy."

The kiss was soft, as Yuuri expected, but, sadly, Yuuri blinked and he wasn't there to receive it. Not anymore.

 

 

 

 

It was early morning when Victor finally had to leave. Not that he wanted to.

He picked his scattered clothes, declining a shower because he didn't want to wash away Yuuri's scent that lingered on his skin, and dressed unhurriedly. Yuuri was lounging on the bed completely naked. His robe had been discarded somewhere during one of the more desperate moments, but neither of them cared about modesty at this point.

Victor's eyes raked over the beautiful shoulders, back, butt, thighs that were turned to him while Yuuri lied on his stomach, a pillow under his chest. He was pressing his flushed cheek into his bent elbow, a picture of tired grace that filled Victor with heavy warmth.

He knew what it was. But he knew he shouldn't think about it, not yet.

Picking up his holster from the ground, Victor slipped it on over his shirt.

The gun was right there.

Yuuri was right there.

 _Eros_ was right there.

Victor's fingers touched the cold metal.

"I could kill you right now," his voice was quiet, but he knew Yuuri had heard him.

Yuuri didn't reply, but he moved a little to tug the pillow from under his chest and expose the handgun trained exactly on Victor.

Delighted, happy laughter bubbled out of Victor's chest, because, _really_ , Yuuri didn't stop surprising him.

Stepping around the bed, Victor leaned over Yuuri with one hand supporting himself on the bed and waited until Yuuri rolled onto his back to face him. Playful brown eyes gazed straight into his and Victor could not wipe the silly grin from his face if he tried.

"You never cease to surprise me," he said.

"It's my life's mission," Eros told him, a teasing curl to his lips.

Victor kissed him.

"See you soon," Victor said as goodbye.

"If you can catch me, that is." Yuuri butted his finger on the downside of Victor's chin, and Victor's heart flipped inside his chest.

"Just you wait," he promised.

Yuuri's last kiss was enough to tell him, _I will_.

 

 


	5. Stay

 

 

"So," Yakov's voice did not sound pleased. At all. "Mind telling me why there are no updates on Eros?"

Victor hummed. "Maybe he's on vacation?"

"Don't bullshit me, Vitya. People in our line of work do not _vacation_."

"Just because you're a workaholic, doesn't mean we all are, Yakov," Victor pointed out unhelpfully, which on second thought might not have been his brightest idea.

"Says you," Yakov returned in a gruff voice, and _ouch_. That hit the bull's-eye. Victor pouted. "Find the guy and eliminate him before he gets to another one of ours. I don't care how. Just get it done."

"Sir, yes, sir," Victor replied sulkily, already expecting the annoyed click of a dropped call when it came.

He pulled the phone away from his ear and sighed. Yakov wasn't the only one getting impatient. There was no sign of Eros anywhere, not for the last two months. Victor looked, Victor tracked, Victor hacked.

Eros was gone.

And after what happened between them in London, this sudden disappearance made Victor's blood chill. Was he the reason? Or did something happen? Was Yuuri in trouble? Was he avoiding Victor? Did he grow bored of their little game after he got Victor into his bed?

Or... did Eros finally meet his match...?

That last option Victor didn't even want to think about. Even if the work they did was inevitably a minefield of possible threats that they knew how to navigate, it wouldn't be strange if Eros set off one of them.

But that couldn't be true, could it?

Eros was too smart.

He was just undercover.

He just didn't want to be found.

Victor rubbed at his eyes and kept telling himself that. And he kept on looking.

 

 

 

 

"You're what now?" Celestino lifted an eyebrow in surprise.

Yuuri shrugged. "I'm taking a short vacation."

Celestino still seemed to be processing the abruptness of Yuuri's decision, but his professional side had easily won over his shock.

"Well," he said. "It's not like you didn't deserve a little time off, but why now?"

"I miss my mom's cooking. And my dog. Why not now?"

Celestino's eyes were clearly telling him why.

"It's fine." Yuuri waved a hand. "I've got Grand Prix covered. No need to worry."

Celestino watched him for a while, but he didn't say a word more. He simply sighed and nodded his assent.

"How long will you be gone?"

Yuuri hummed. "A month? More or less, I guess?"

Celestino nodded again. "Report in regularly. And let Phichit know, so he doesn't get on my case."

Yuuri snickered, but straightened up when Celestino sent him a little glare. Same old, same old.

 

 

 

 

Just the fact that there was no news was _good_ news. If Eros was dead, someone would have already claimed the honour of the kill. A body would have resurfaced. There would at least be rumours.

So with the way it was, quiet, Victor was choosing to trust in Yuuri.

In the meanwhile, Yakov sent him here and there to take on some side missions to keep him from growing bored. Victor appreciated it, because a bored Victor was a reckless Victor, and after the last time when he had too much time on his hands neither him nor Yakov wanted a repeat of it. Despite his harsh personality, Yakov was a deeply caring man when it came to the people he was close to. And Victor was lucky, or unlucky, to be one of them.

Victor's parents were killed by Russian mafia when he was only fifteen, and if not for Yakov, Victor would have probably died out on the streets as another nobody. Instead, Yakov took him in, put a roof over his head, food in his belly and new, clean clothes on his back. Victor owed him a great deal, so when Yakov asked him to repay him by training himself hard in the art of killing, Victor didn't utter a word – he did as asked, and continued doing as asked, because a life debt was a debt of honour, and that Victor would not let anyone take from him.

But even repaying Yakov didn't save Victor from the feeling of monotony that crawled into his heart after long years. Eros was a breath of fresh air, a challenge that kept Victor on high alert and forced him to tune in all his senses that dulled over time, so it came with a pang of hurt, a stab of betrayal, when Eros disappeared without a trace just after Victor had finally tasted sweet poison that spilled from Eros' lips and began to hope for a change.

Victor sighed, staring at the picture of Yuuri that he plucked from Anatoli's file all those months back.

"Where are you, sweetheart?" he asked of the younger version of the man he came to know. "How do I find you?"

It was possible that Eros had simply holed in at one of the safe houses. It was also possible that he was somewhere, playing civilian and fooling everyone around. But if it was the second option, at least some of the cameras should have caught him. Eros was good at hiding, Victor had to give him that. If he was living in a big city, where he could blend into the crowd and become anonymous, like Victor would've done himself, there was little he could do to avoid detection from someone as motivated as Victor. There were store cameras, traffic cameras, cameras in the trains, planes, some even in busses. It was impossible...

...unless he wasn't in a big city. Unless Eros picked something that not many would pick and hid right in plain sight. Somewhere, where people wouldn't notice him. In a place without cameras, without crowds. In a place where he would blend in without calling attention to himself. In a place where everyone knew him and accepted him as a part of the mass.

Sitting up straight, Victor's jaw dropped because it was that obvious.

No one knew where Eros was, because Eros wasn't there.

Yuuri. It was _Yuuri_.

And he must have gone home.

If Victor was wrong, he would take a trip around Japan just for fun. But if he wasn't, if he was right, then he could not only find Eros when no one else could, but also find him in a place where his guard was down.

It was a chance that he couldn't miss.

With that in mind, Victor booked the tickets and under one of his multiple aliases boarded the first plane to Japan. It was a long and boring flight, but the thought of Eros' surprised face when he sees him kept Victor at the edge of his seat with excitement. Will Eros smirk at him? Will he try to slit Victor's throat in greeting? Or will he pull him into a kiss and take him apart on his bed, like Victor longed for him to do?

He was so lost in his daydreaming that he almost missed his train. From the airport in Fukuoka he took a cab to the train station and there, he bought a one way ticket to Eros' hometown: a small, port city called Hasetsu. He hadn't slept in more than twenty-four hours, but the blood buzzing in his veins kept him awake and alert. Every sight was new, every scene exciting, and even the long hour he spent on the train didn't put a damper on his silly excitement.

Hasetsu was... small. Not at all what Victor was used to. Victor couldn't honestly fathom how such a small, yet charming town could produce the beautiful monster that Eros was. It was intriguing to say the least. And Victor had a chance to be the first one to find out.

He almost skipped towards the taxi line once he got off the train.

It was hard to talk to the driver who didn't know a lick of English, but it seemed like the magic word Victor used to convey his intent was 'Katsuki'. The man's face lit up in understanding and he nodded eagerly. A second later they were on the way. The drive wasn't long, maybe ten minutes, and Victor spent most of it in silence as he looked at the little town through the window.

The weather was beautiful, as expected of Japanese summers, and Victor got perfect view of everything in sight. It was a quiet, boring little place, like most small towns were, and yet Victor was drawn to it. Somehow, it reminded him a lot of Yuuri: how he looked in the family pictures and yearbook photos, so innocent and shy, and his Eros persona, which equally enthralled men and terrified them. Briefly, Victor wondered if there is another level to this quaint place, something like its own little Eros.

The thought had him grinning into his own hand. He couldn't wait to find out.

Soon, they pulled up to a big house and the driver nodded his head at it. Victor guessed that this was where Yuuri's family lived, and so, he paid the man and cheerfully stepped out of the car to welcome his fate.

He was so excited about this journey that he didn't even consider the possibility he could be wrong. But now, barely a few steps away from the front door of Yuuri's childhood home, Victor hesitated. What if Yuuri wasn't here? Surely, his family would have no idea who Victor was, so he could pretend to just be a tourist like he had so many times already. But then, wouldn't the whole trip have been for nothing? If Yuuri wasn't home... then Victor would just have to bring him home.

His lips quirked at the idea. Bright-eyed and with newfound excitement, Victor took the last steps up to the door. Just as he was lifting a hand to knock, the door slid open and Victor's dilemma solved itself.

Face to face with Yuuri, Victor grinned.

"Surprise!"

Yuuri paled, then flushed, and then paled again, all in the span of a few seconds. The change was so fast that Victor couldn't even blink. Whatever Victor expected would happen once they see each other again, though, it wasn't what happened next.

"Vic...tor?" Yuuri asked.

He sounded confused. He sounded lost. Small. Uncertain.

It confused Victor, too.

Even if Yuuri never expected anyone to find out about his childhood home, he should've been prepared for the alternative that someone, someday could do it. But here he was, standing on the doorstep with mused up hair, oversized sweater and square, blue-rimmed glasses perched atop his nose; he looked adorable, off guard and completely defenceless. Very unlike the hitman that Victor came to know.

"Hi," Victor smiled, tilting his head to the side. "I've missed you, darling."

Coming to Yuuri's childhood home was nothing less than a carefully measured slap in Eros' face, and Eros was not reacting to it at all.

Victor was a threat. A threat that now knew not only of Yuuri, but also of Yuuri's family and every hitman worth their name would have taken measures to eliminate him. And yet...

Yuuri blinked through what seemed to be surprise, and then confused Victor once again when he smiled back: sweet and apologetic. So unlike Eros.

"Sorry," Yuuri said. "I wasn't expecting you. Um... Want to come in? Do you already have a place to stay? We're running an inn here, I don't know if you already know, but if you don't have anything booked we have some rooms open."

Victor's mouth opened on an empty sound. _What?_

"Ah, that's only if you want to!" Yuuri rushed to say, flushed and waving his hands.

Yuuri was embarrassed, Victor noticed. He could see it, yes. But for the love of everything, he couldn't make heads or tails out of it. What was this? Why was Yuuri acting like this? Was it because he was home? Didn't want his parents to know who he was? Who Victor was?

_What?_

"Are you serious?" Victor asked, frowning.

Yuuri's hands dropped. His head did, too. He looked a little defeated, something Victor never thought he would see in someone as confident, as arrogant as Eros. It looked out of place and suddenly Victor wanted it gone.

He dropped the bag he was holding and grabbed Yuuri's chin in a harsh hand. Startled, brown eyes looked at him. At the depths of his gaze Victor could see the fear. The fear that crawled out onto Yuuri's face the longer Victor looked. The fear that made Yuuri's bottom lip quiver. The fear that made him tremble in Victor's hold like a leaf.

_What was this?_

"P-please," Yuuri whispered. "Please, don't–"

Unsure if what he was feeling was disappointment at how little of a challenge Eros proved to be, or annoyance at himself for how much Victor had believed that this could be _something_ , Victor scowled.

"What?" he sneered. "You're scared now? _Now_? After everything?"

Yuuri's breath was shaky when it ghosted over the back of Victor's hand.

"I don't–" Yuuri paused again. He shut his eyes, squeezed them tight as if he was in pain. "Please. Not yet..."

"Yakov was right," Victor sighed, closing his eyes.

So this was it. This was how this great thing that gave him so much joy, so much hope, came to end. Frankly, it was pathetic.

"I've wasted enough time on you," Victor decided.

He let go of Yuuri, who whimpered quietly. Victor's hand was heavy when he reached for the gun hidden in a small compartment on the bottom of his bag. He didn't want to look at Yuuri again.

This wasn't Eros. This wasn't the man who could keep up with him and make his blood boil. Victor grimaced. He was such a fool to have allowed himself to place so many expectations on someone he didn't even know. 

Slowly, he lifted the gun up, but before he could point at Yuuri, Yuuri's hand closed around his wrist. Surprised at the firm grasp, Victor's eyes snapped up. It was the first sign of struggle that Yuuri was showing and hope, ridiculous, stupid hope tore through Victor's heart.

Only to die when he took in the tearful desperation painted over Yuuri's face.

"Please, Victor," Yuuri choked out. "Don't let him–"

Him? Victor blinked. "Who?"

"Don't–" Yuuri gasped. He swayed on his feet and against his better judgement, Victor wrapped his free arm around him to steady him. "He wants to– Please!"

Yuuri's hand, the one that wasn't holding Victor's wrist in a deathly grip, clenched at the fabric of Victor's shirt right around his collarbone. It trembled, just as the rest of Yuuri's body.

What had him so bothered?

Yuuri said 'him', but if anything, Victor would've guessed that he was the only threat that Yuuri could've been running away from. And if Yuuri didn't mean Victor, then who...?

A wet sob escaped Yuuri's lips and he slumped further against Victor, burying his face in Victor's shoulder. And then–

"Fuck you," Yuuri grit out.

His voice was still raspy, but the fear in it was replaced by anger and steel. The body in Victor's arms tensed up, and just like that Victor was put on high alert, too. Even then, though, he was unprepared for the quick like a snake strike of Yuuri's hand that wrapped around Victor's throat and squeezed.

Blood rushed faster through Victor's veins. He could feel it pulse in his jugular, right above where Yuuri was cutting the free flow. Yuuri's head lifted off Victor's shoulder: tear-streaked, blotchy. His glasses were crooked and his eyes were red-rimmed, but his lips were quirked in a smirk that Victor knew well.

"Nice to see you again, dearie," Eros crooned.

The hand on Victor's throat tightened and Victor gasped.

This, this was exactly what he had been expecting all along. Familiarity churned in his stomach, burned in his lungs with each breath he had to fight for. It was delicious. The thrill of excitement woke up inside him again and he would've pushed Yuuri away, ready to take him on, but just as he pulled his arm back to do that, Yuuri grunted and the pressure disappeared from Victor's throat. Yuuri's hand slumped to his side. Even the tight grip on Victor's wrist disappeared.

Victor took a greedy breath while he could. His heart was yammering in his chest: strained, but delighted. He was opening his mouth to retract his earlier words, maybe tell Yuuri how glad he was that he'd decided to treat him seriously again, when Yuuri interrupted his train of thought yet again.

This time, though, it was without words.

Yuuri's full weight collapsed against Victor and it was only Victor's fast reflexes that kept them both from falling. Victor wanted to ask what Yuuri was doing, but when he glanced down at Yuuri's face, Yuuri's head lolled to the side – he'd lost consciousness.

 

 

 

 

Yuuri woke up slowly. He was... home? He remembered coming home. And then... then, there was nothing. And then, there was Victor.

He forced down the sudden rush of emotion. It was no time for this. Yuuri kept his eyes closed and his breathing even as best as he could. If Grand Prix really was in his house, that would make things complicated. So before anyone could take notice of him, Yuuri needed to make him disappear. It would ruin his plans for the assignment, but there was no other choice: he had to kill Victor Nikiforov.

Slowly, carefully, he opened his eyes. Everything was a little blurry so Yuuri guessed he wasn't wearing his glasses. Someone must have taken them off, but the shapes around were familiar. He was in his room, in his own bed, under a blanket, and he was alone. His head gave a little throb when his eyes fell on the jacket slung over his desk chair that definitely wasn't his. Which could only mean that Victor had been in his room and he might come back for it.

Yuuri climbed out of bed and as quietly as he could, walked up to his desk. From the top drawer he pulled out the letter opener he kept there out of habit and returned to bed, hiding the nondescript weapon under his pillow. He settled back again, pulled the blanket around himself and waited.

It was maybe ten or so minutes later when the hinges of the door screeched. Yuuri pretended to be asleep, resting on the side and keeping his hand firmly wrapped around the letter opener. That was, until a surprisingly gentle hand pushed his hair back and a quiet voice whispered:

"What are you hiding, Katsuki Yuuri?"

If he was Katsuki Yuuri, he might have fallen for it. But Eros was no fool. In a flash, he grabbed Victor's wrist and twisted onto his back, simultaneously pulling the man close and brining his weapon out. The blunt edge of the letter opener wouldn't do much harm, but the end was pointy, and if used right it could pierce right into Victor's jugular, where Yuuri had now pressed it.

Victor's eyes were wide, a startling blue. Beautiful. Yuuri smirked.

"Why, I'm not hiding anything, dearie," he said. "Now, what are _you_ doing here?"

He pressed the letter opener harder into Victor's skin. A precious drop of blood rolled down the silver of the knife until it touched Yuuri's thumb.

Victor didn't reply. He kept staring down at Yuuri as if he wanted to ask something, but held back. Yuuri wanted to chide him, and ask again, a bit more pointedly this time, but before he could, Victor knocked his hand away with a quick jerk of his arm and the knife cluttered to the floor.

The frozen tentative peace of the moment has been broken and the time moved again, faster than before.

Yuuri shifted to lunge after his only weapon, but Victor's weight crashed down on him and pinned him to the mattress. Victor's hands made a grab for Yuuri's as if he wanted to pin them down too, but Yuuri avoided them with practiced ease, tugging at Victor's shirt to unbalance him. He wrapped one of his legs around Victor and bucked up, throwing him off the bed. Before he fell, though, Victor grabbed at Yuuri's elbow and pulled him down with him.

They both crushed down on the floor in a heap. Yuuri's nose knocked into Victor's chest, hard enough to make blood spurt onto his lips. Victor's head cracked on the hard, wooden floor with a sickening sound that Yuuri barely heard through his own pain. They both groaned in unison, but then Yuuri's eye caught on something silver at the edge of his vision and the pain was gone.

He jumped off of Victor and reached for the letter opener, but Victor's arm wrapped around his waist and pulled him back – just so, and Yuuri's hand missed the blade by mere inches.

Yuuri growled.

Victor pinned him down again, harder this time, and stretched his hand towards the knife right over Yuuri. Pushing himself up with effort because of the added weight, Yuuri threw his head back and knocked it against Victor's chin. The following yelp of pain was a beautiful music to his ears. Exploiting the moment of weakness to his advantage, Yuuri weaselled out from under Victor just enough to wrap his hand around the knife.

Success had him smirk. And, this time, when Victor tugged him back, Yuuri was ready: he took a swing, twisting around in Victor's grasp, and only the arm Victor lifted at the last moment saved his neck from being gushed open.

Victor cursed loudly in Russian when the tip of the letter opener cut into his forearm, but Yuuri wasn't done yet. He took another swing right at the centre of Victor's throat. Victor was more prepared for it the second time and he caught the blade in his hand. He grabbed at Yuuri's wrist with the other before Yuuri could pull the knife back. Yuuri tried to knee Victor in the gut, but Victor was straddling his thighs, which made it impossible.

Yuuri had no choice but to watch as Victor squeezed Yuuri's wrist tight, and tighter, until Yuuri's fingers went numb and the knife slipped out of them: useless. Victor took it and threw it out of the window that was left slightly ajar to let the fresh air in while Yuuri rested.

Panting, they looked at each other. For a moment they were at the standstill, frozen, simply breathing and being.

Victor's hair was tousled. Some fell onto his face, the fringe completely covered his left eye, and a piece even caught between Victor's lips. The one blue eye that Yuuri could see was dilated, dark almost. Victor's pulse was fluttering on the bloodied mess at the side of his neck.

He looked absolutely messed up and Yuuri loved that it was him who had done it. He licked his lips. There was blood on them, fresh and freely flowing from his nose. Yuuri knew he must be looking just as bad as Victor, maybe even worse, but that was what was so good about it. He got as much as he'd given. They were even. They were equal–

It was Victor who broke first.

He lunged down and pressed his mouth against Yuuri's, firm and hot, and Yuuri opened up to him without thinking as the same fire that was fuelling Victor woke up in his own veins. He tasted Victor's blood on his tongue, sweet and metallic, melting into one with his own. It made him moan. His arms wrapped around Victor's neck, pulled him close, and Victor folded into him: pushed Yuuri's legs apart and slid onto him like he'd always belonged there.

The bite to Yuuri's bottom lip was foul play, and he voiced it with a needy groan that Victor swallowed with another kiss. Yuuri raked his hands through Victor's hair, pulling, twisting, making Victor shiver when he bit his nails into Victor's nape. He could feel the hard press of Victor's dick against his own, a dark promise of pleasure that thrummed at the adrenaline that was still rushing through his veins with purpose.

And that purpose now was to get off with the help of the most lethal hitman alive.

Yuuri broke the kiss and tugged at Victor's hair again. He pressed his mouth quick and short to the column of Victor's throat as he moved, and then he let his tongue travel over the blood that seeped out of the small puncture on the side of Victor's neck. Yuuri moaned again at the taste, sucking at the wound to get more, more, more... Blood filled his mouth, delicious and sweet.

Victor groaned when Yuuri's teeth scraped the sensitive flesh around the place. He pushed Yuuri away lightly and pulled Yuuri's face up by the chin, only to slip his tongue into his mouth instead. Victor's tongue fucked into Yuuri's mouth, hard and fast, until Yuuri's head was buzzed pleasantly as the heavy veil of pleasure wrapped around him like Victor's arms wrapped around his waist to hoist him off the floor. Yuuri went with it willingly, grinding himself on Victor's lap.

Victor made a quick work of the button and the zipper of Yuuri's pants, while Yuuri didn't waste time and tugged at the bottom of Victor's shirt, lifting it up so he could do the same. He had to shift back a little to pull out Victor's dick, but once he'd done that he brought himself as close as he could. Victor took both their dicks in hand and Yuuri wrapped his over the top.

And then he forced his thighs to move: up and down, grinding them together and keeping the tight grip over where the heads of their dicks pushed up with every move of his hips.

Victor moaned. He thrust his face into the juncture of Yuuri's shoulder and let him move freely. Yuuri's pace was fast, jerky, and determined. He knew what he wanted and he wanted it now. He gave brief moans, but mostly it was hushed, shallow gasps, far needier than anything he could give. The taste of Victor's blood was still fresh on his tongue, still arousing the deepest, most dangerous parts of him. That, combined with the sweet tightness of their joined hands on his dick and Victor's scent that engulfed him along with his heat; it was more than enough to bring Yuuri to orgasm in a short minute.

He spilled over his own hand on a stuttering groan that he pressed against Victor's neck, where he laid a wet, open-mouthed kiss. Victor wasn't far behind. He used Yuuri's come as lube and stroked himself a few times before he too came with a sharp gasp.

They were sticky, sweaty, covered in a mixture of cum and blood. Slumped against each other and breathing hard, they were honestly a mess. Yuuri couldn't help the laughter that suddenly filled his lungs: so he gave into it and laughed. He tried to muffle it in Victor's shoulder, and when that didn't help, in his own hand, but that didn't do much either. It didn't take a lot to have Victor chuckling against him and they both ended up laughing until they were breathless.

Finally, Yuuri pulled back. Victor lifted his head, too, and they looked at each other.

"We should probably get cleaned up," Yuuri said.

His thighs were a little sore, but the most painful thing at the moment was his nose. Yuuri hoped it wasn't broken, that just wouldn't be fun.

"We probably should," Victor agreed. The corner of his mouth was curled in a smile. It was cute, Yuuri thought. "Is it okay if I stay here, then?"

Yuuri squinted his eyes at him for a moment, trying to see through the expression that was too blurry for that.

If he let Victor stay, he was opening himself up for an attack. This was his family home: full of liabilities, witnesses and hostages. Giving Victor permission to stay would mean that he would get to see Yuuri at his most vulnerable, but the alternative to that wasn't an option Yuuri wanted to consider either.

If Victor left now, Yuuri couldn't control him. If Victor left, Yuuri couldn't predict when he would come back. Because, oh, Yuuri was sure he would be back. Knowing where Yuuri's family lived meant that he could lure Yuuri out by taking any of them hostage at any time he wanted. Even the threat of it would make Yuuri move.

It was a precarious information that Victor had come into, one that could break Yuuri if he didn't thread carefully. And Yuuri wasn't about to give Victor the chance to hurt anyone he cared about.

His face softened as he gave Victor a little smile and leaned down to kiss his lips.

"Sure," he finally said. "Stay."

 

 

 

 

To say Victor wasn't confused would be a lie, but Victor hid it well. He wanted to curb it to surprise, maybe some of it was simply Yuuri with his guard down, but when he thought about it like that something didn't add up.

The Yuuri Victor met in front of the house wasn't the same Yuuri who woke up later and attacked Victor in what Yuuri's sister said was Yuuri's childhood bedroom.

All the previous thoughts Victor had about the different ways Yuuri was acting returned to him with clarity. If Victor didn't know better he'd say that Yuuri had a twin with whom he swapped places at times without anyone taking notice, but... he knew better. Yuuri didn't have a twin. There was only one of him, and yet, _there wasn't_.

Victor observed Yuuri closely as they walked through the house to the onsen, as Yuuri had called it. Victor had questions, many of them, but he held his tongue until they were truly alone again to ask them. He didn't know how much Yuuri's family knew about what their line of work included, but it made for good leverage to keep them unawares for as long as it took him and Yuuri to figure out what they were going to do from then on.

Finally, Yuuri opened one of the doors and nodded at Victor to pass through. The inside looked like a plain locker room with open shelves and baskets filled with clothes and bathing supplies.

Someone was already there, Victor noticed. She noticed them, too. Victor recognized her as Yuuri's sister, the same that pointed him to Yuuri's room when he stepped into the inn with her unconscious brother in his arms. Mari, Victor remembered from Eros' file, was her name.

Now, her eyebrows lifted at the vision they both must have presented, which wasn't much better than the first time they'd met.

"Had fun, I see?" Mari commented in English, voice amused.

"A little bit," Yuuri answered for them both. "Ah, there should be my letter opener somewhere in the yard. Victor threw it out of the window. Could you find it before someone stumbles on it and thinks we murder guests here?"

She clicked his tongue at him. "Fine. But you're taking Vicchan for a walk tonight."

Yuuri rolled his eyes slightly, but said nothing. He was tugging his shirt off already, mindful of his bloodied nose. Once he freed his head of the fabric, he turned to Victor.

"Take off your clothes," he told him. "Put them in the basket, Mari will take them to get washed."

"I don't think you can get rid of the blood just by washing," Victor said.

He didn't expect this kind of attitude from Mari, who didn't even bat an eye at their injuries. Though, if Victor thought back to how unbothered she seemed to be at the sight of her collapsed brother, Victor probably should've thought of this possibility first.

"Blood isn't a problem," Mari told him. She reached a hand and pulled a bit at a tear on the fabric of Victor's sleeve with a finger. "This, however, might be. I can ask mom to stitch it up for you, but this shirt's all but ruined."

Victor lifted his arm. Ah, he forgot about that. Shame.

"I liked it, too," he sighed. Pouted. And threw Yuuri a glare.

Yuuri had the nerve to smirk at him. "You get what you asked for."

"Excuse you, I did not ask you to ruin my shirt," Victor replied, offended. "You could've at least asked me to take it off before you did that."

"How about I buy you a new one?" Yuuri asked, popping open the button of his pants and looking over his shoulder at Victor.

He was absolutely charming. And smooth. And offering to take Victor shopping.

Victor's face lit up like a Christmas tree. He tore the shirt off his shoulders and handed it to Mari without a second of doubt.

"Throw it out, please," he said.

Mari only snorted, but she took the shirt anyway.

"Try not to do any more damage," she told them both, already turning around to leave. "And no funny stuff in the onsen!"

"Yes, yes, I know the rules," Yuuri waved a hand and Mari left.

"What rules?" Victor asked, taking off his pants just like Yuuri did before and folding them to put in a basket next to Yuuri's.

"There's a few. Like, wash off before getting into the pool. Don't wear underwear in the water. Don't spend too much time in there or you'll get lightheaded. That kind of stuff," Yuuri explained, and then smirked. "But I think what Mari meant was no sex in the onsen."

Victor's mind was safe from going in that direction, but once Yuuri mentioned it, he couldn't help the images. Yuuri snickered at him.

"Snap out of it, dearie," he told Victor, pulling off his underwear. He dropped it into the basket and tied a towel around his waist. Victor bemoaned the beautiful sight he was cut off from. "Rules are rules. You wouldn't want to get on my mother's bad side."

"Is she scary?"

Victor followed his example, discarding the rest of his clothes. Once ready, they both stepped through the door to the outside bath – the real onsen. Yuuri guided him to one of the washing stations and motioned for him to sit on the small stool, which Victor gingerly did.

"She isn't scary," Yuuri said with a hum. "She won't get mad. She won't yell, if that's what you're scared off. She'll just be so disappointed in you, your heart will break from shame."

"Ah, we wouldn't want that," Victor agreed.

He watched Yuuri operate the faucet before them and fill the small basin with water, which he then carefully spilled over Victor's head, back, chest, arms and legs. It was quite an... intimate thing, Victor realized as Yuuri soaped his hands and began to wash Victor's body. It felt nice, very nice. But it wasn't something Victor would ever think he'd allow. And somehow, by some silly twist of fate, here he was – letting it happen and enjoying it.

Yuuri's touch was gentle. He avoided Victor's slashed forearm, but he did put his soapy hands on the side of Victor's neck. Victor hissed at the sting, but Yuuri shushed him with "You big baby, it doesn't even hurt," and Victor spent the rest of the bath sulking. He sulked even more when Yuuri washed his forearm, rubbing the soap into the wound as if on purpose.

He couldn't keep sulking, though. Not when Yuuri moved his hands to Victor's hair and began massaging some sweet scented shampoo into his head.

Honestly, Victor thought while Yuuri's fingers gave his scalp a truly orgasmic experience, what was Yuuri playing at? This wasn't what enemies did for each other. This wasn't what Yuuri wanted to do to Victor even an hour ago. So what changed? Why did it change? This kind of gentle treatment wasn't what Eros was known for. It didn't fit with his character. Eros was a trained killer, who seduced men and women alike for his own gain.

Was this a part of it? Victor cracked open and eye to look at Yuuri in the reflection of the mirror before them. Was this whole thing a ploy to get Victor to open up to him? To seduce him and lower his guard?

"Close your eyes and tip your head back, I'm going to rinse," Yuuri told him.

Victor obeyed, and then caught himself. If this was Yuuri's plan, indeed, then it was already working. Something heavy settled in Victor's heart while warm water ran down his head and shoulders, turning cold as it slid further down his back like a shiver of realization: if this was a trap, Victor had already fallen into it.

He sat frozen on the tiny stool in a Japanese home of one of the most lethal hitmen, in the middle of nowhere, with no one being the wiser about his location, and his back was turned to the very man who had too many opportunities to kill him _and didn't_. Something akin to fear gripped at Victor's insides and twisted hard.

What was Eros planning? And what did he need Victor for? Because it was obvious that he needed him, and he needed him alive.

Yuuri returned to his side, kneeling by Victor's injured arm. Victor twitched when warm fingers touched his cooling skin, but forced himself to still. Yuuri's eyes snapped up to him and they looked at each other for a moment. The brown of Yuuri's eyes was dull, almost blank, Victor noticed. He voiced none of that and Yuuri broke the eye contact to clean Victor's arm.

This time, when Yuuri poured a hydrogen peroxide solution onto his open wound, Victor didn't make a noise. In silence, he watched Yuuri's hands work, unable to look at the face that had led him astray so many times.

Nothing made sense to him anymore. If this was a scheme, if this was a game Eros was playing, then what was that scene in front of the inn? What was this, now? Was it part of the grand master plan, too?

All of a sudden, Yuuri's hands began trembling so hard that he dropped the bandage he was wrapping around Victor's sanitized wound. Victor turned his head to look him in the eye, distracted, but drawn anyway, and found himself faced with a worried, panicked gaze that sparked the same kind of reaction from him.

"What... what happened to your arm?" Yuuri asked, pale as a ghost.

There was no understanding in Yuuri's eyes, no memory of the wound or how it got there. He looked confused, scared, out of his depth. Just like he did in front of the inn before he collapsed.

And then everything clicked into place. Finally, Victor understood.

 

 


	6. Tick tock

 

 

There were two of them.

Victor realized it after the first three days with Yuuri and his family. He still didn't know how it worked exactly, what made Yuuri's switch flip one way or another, but he knew for certain that it wasn't simply a mask Yuuri put on to fool others.

There was two Yuuris. Or more accurately, there was Yuuri and then, there was Eros.

It was hard to tell when they switched, but it wasn't hard to tell which was which. Eros smirked at Victor, called him 'dearie' and punched Victor in the gut on the same breath that he kissed him senseless with. Yuuri, on the other hand, was the shy one: he came out fearfully, with sweet, hesitant smiles, and left often in tears, begging Victor to stop _him_.

Who the 'him' was Victor didn't know, but he could venture a guess. And if he was correct, Yuuri knew about Eros. He knew there was someone else inside him, a persona that overtook him whenever he pleased. But did Eros know about Yuuri? Was Victor even right?

He had no proof. No medical records that could give him any sort of idea of how and why Yuuri's mind had split into the good and the twisted. Victor didn't want to call Eros evil, because doing so simply based on the profession they shared would mean that Victor himself was equally as evil. And he wasn't. To some he might be, he was a killer after all. But he wasn't a bad person. He didn't kick puppies. Didn't hurt people without a cause.

Neither did Eros, as far as Victor knew.

Morality was a gray area in their line of work, but even the most successful hitmen had their own borders of what was and what wasn't acceptable. And still, that code of honour was far different from what someone like Yuuri could accept. It explained why Yuuri was so afraid, so scared of leaving Eros in power.

Victor carried this revelation with him for a good few days. It was something he only considered as a humourless joke, but now that it was real he wasn't sure what his next course of action should be.

It would be easy to kill Eros when he was just Yuuri.

Yuuri was innocent, fearful, a kind soul. But he was also defenceless. He was an easy target. And yet, for every reason Victor should kill him, he found three more that he shouldn't. Yuuri wasn't Eros. He didn't deserve Eros' fate. But killing Eros was impossible without killing Yuuri, so Victor was left with a dilemma at his hands that he wasn't keen on solving anytime soon.

Especially not when his stay in Yuuri's home had been such a blast. It would be simply ungrateful to Yuuri's parents: the sweetest woman on earth, Hiroko Katsuki, who greeted Victor like a son, gave him tender hugs and head rubs, and the kindest father imaginable, Toshiya Katsuki, who laughed jovially at Victor's failed attempts at Japanese and patted his back when Victor got upset about football they took to watching together. How could he take their son away from them?

He couldn't. It was as simple as that.

He couldn't and... he didn't want to.

 

 

 

 

Vicchan ran far before them, but Yuuri kept a careful eye on him. Or at least he tried to, because Victor's constant questions about everything and nothing kept him quite distracted.

"What's that over there?" Victor asked, pointing with a finger that Yuuri slapped out of the air.

"It's rude to point, Victor," he chided, and Victor gave him a sheepish smile that had Yuuri smiling too. Honestly.

Yuuri looked at the direction Victor's finger had been pointing in and he made a small sound of understanding.

"That's Hasetsu Castle," he said. "It's only a museum now, for the most part. But the inside is still in a pretty good condition so they allow tourists in." He turned to Victor again, grin turning sharp. "It's a ninja house."

Victor's eyes widened. "Wha– Ninjas?!"

Yuuri nodded, still grinning. It didn't take much to excite Victor, it seemed. His blue eyes sparkled like sapphires and Yuuri felt content watching him like this. It was enough.

"Can we go?" Victor's hand closed around Yuuri's. It was warm, but insistent, excited. Victor tugged on him. "Yuuri, can we go inside? I want to see it up close!"

Turning his hand in Victor's grasp, Yuuri gripped back.

"Not today," he said. Victor's expression fell, but Yuuri wasn't done yet: "They're already closed, I think. We can go tomorrow."

"Really?" Victor's face brightened again and Yuuri laughed.

"Vicchan!" he called for the dog that used their distraction to dig out a hole in the ground and was now returning back to them: dirty and happy.

Yuuri gave his pup a once over and sighed. Then he threw Victor a playful glare.

"You're washing him," he decided.

Victor opened his mouth, but Yuuri pressed a finger to it.

"It's your fault for distracting me," Yuuri told him.

Victor acquiesced without much arguing. His other hand was still wrapped in Yuuri's and it remained so on the entire way back to the inn. And every time Yuuri sneaked a glance at Victor's face, he found him grinning at him: beautiful, happy, and heart-shaped.

Something in his chest ached, but it was a good ache – the kind he hadn't felt in forever.

 

 

 

 

"Seen Yuuri?" Victor asked when Mari passed him by on her way out.

"He should still be in the small banquet room," Mari said, toeing in her shoes. "Go straight, past the kitchen and it's the third door on the left."

"Thanks!"

Victor smiled and turned to walk away, but Mari stopped him.

"Victor," she called. Her face was serious when he looked over his shoulder. "You hurt him, I'll kill you."

Victor wasn't sure what Mari Katsuki was capable of, but he knew it was an empty threat. If push came to shove, he could take her on. But still–

"You'll have to get in line," he said. "He'll kill me first if I ever step out of line."

Mari snorted, but her face relaxed.

"He would, that brat," she agreed, fond.

"I promise, no blood will be spilled under your roof by my hand," Victor said.

Mari gave him a pointed look, and _ah_. It must've slipped his mind.

"Well, no more than I already spilled," he amended, remembering Yuuri's bleeding nose on the first day Victor showed up. "Promise."

Mari shook her head at him as if he was a helpless child. He was, just a little bit. Victor grinned to himself and waved her off, before he ventured into the inside of the house. He found the banquet room with little trouble. As Mari had said, Yuuri was inside: curled around a sleeping Vicchan, and dozing himself.

His guard was down, he was defenceless. With Yuuri's back turned on him, Victor could stab him, slit his throat, shoot the back of his head, inject him with poison or simply an overdose of any drug and... that'd be it.

Really. Why was Yuuri so careless?

Victor stepped into the room, quiet, but not overtly so. Yuuri didn't even stir when Victor sat next to them on the bamboo mats. He didn't stir when Victor ran a hand through his hair or when Victor plucked his glasses off his face and set them on the table nearby. Vicchan only cracked his little eyes open briefly at the tiny clunky sound the glasses made on the wood, but seeing it was just Victor, he went right back to sleep.

It didn't take long before Victor's own eyelids began to feel heavy, and so he lied down, wrapped his arm around Yuuri's waist and with his nose in Yuuri's hair he slipped into sleep as well – dreaming of warmth, love and gold.

 

 

 

 

"That was," Victor paused on a hiccup, and then continued: "That was so fun. We should definitely do it again, Yurenka."

Yuuri giggled into Victor's shoulder, holding Victor up and collapsing against him at the same time. Alcohol was a pleasant hum in his head. It cut off most of his thoughts and only left the most basic ones, like–

"This yellow light is not doing good things for your face, Vitya," he said. "Let's move over there. More shadow."

He waved a hand somewhere to the side. He meant that specific place, between the two street lamps, where it was dark and cosy, but pointing to it was too much of a hurdle. They stumbled over there, laughing when Yuuri tripped on the curb and Victor right afterwards, when he was trying to help Yuuri. Yuuri's back hit the metal railing on the bridge, but it was high enough so he couldn't fall over. Victor's hands on him were another assurance, even if they were more busy petting him all over rather than checking for safety.

"We're so drunk," Yuuri complained, thrusting his face into Victor's shoulder with another laugh.

"So what?" Victor asked, tugging on the belt loops of Yuuri's jeans with little other purpose than to simply tug at them. "We're adults! We're allowed to be!"

Yuuri laughed at that. "Well, yeah, but still. We should go back and sleep."

"That's boring, booo! Booooring!" Victor crowded into Yuuri even more. Their chests almost touched, but the heat of Victor's skin somehow didn't bother him. "You know what we should do?"

He leaned close, so close their noses bumped together when Yuuri looked up. Yuuri could see the bottom of his glasses fog from the excited little breaths Victor was taking, but he couldn't care about that at the moment. Not when Victor was looking at him with such a light in his eyes.

"What?" Yuuri whispered, charmed.

"Skinny dipping!"

Victor's grin was mad, and Yuuri was just as mad when he agreed to it with silly laughter on his lips.

It took them quite some time to manoeuvre through the streets in their state, but once they made it, it was hard to regret that choice: the full face of the moon was high up in the sky, reflecting off the ocean waves and Victor's hair. Victor's hand disappeared from around Yuuri's waist and one by one Victor's clothes dropped off to the still slightly warm sand. Naked, Victor walked right towards the water and Yuuri followed in his footsteps, wondering where all his dignity went, as he, too, stripped off his clothes.

Like a small child, Victor squealed when the cold water licked at his feet. He jumped away and slipped, landing on his ass in the sand. Yuuri laughed so hard he tripped over his own jeans that he was trying to tug off his legs and fell face flat into the upcoming wave. Victor's laughter was drowned by the hum of water that washed over Yuuri's head.

He pushed himself up, spluttering, and rubbing sand off his face.

"We're going to drown ourselves," Yuuri stated.

"I've been swimming since I was ten," Victor boasted. "I'll save you if you want."

He winked, a silly little thing, and Yuuri laughed. "And who's going to save _you_?"

"Why, are you offering?" Victor's grin made Yuuri feel warm. Ridiculous. Wanted.

Yuuri snorted, standing up to finally free himself off his jeans. His underwear joined the pile, and then he turned to Victor who was eyeing him with hungry, enraptured eyes. Yuuri smirked.

"The only one that can kill you is me," he said. "Remember that, Grand Prix."

Victor's eyes widened at the use of his code name, but he quickly recovered. He shot up to his feet, giving Yuuri a beautiful view of his backside while at it, and sent Yuuri a familiar sharp smile that had Yuuri's heart racing with expectation.

"You're on, Eros," Victor said.

And without warning, and with a loud whoop, he ran straight into the water. Yuuri waited until his splashing stopped until he stepped in himself. The water was cold, as expected, but his body got used to the different temperature after a few cold shivers.

Yuuri got about waist in before he noticed the unusual quietness around him. He looked around, spotting Victor a good ten meters away. Only his head was afloat now, which was a blessing in disguise because it was hard to miss Victor's hair in the dark pool of the ocean.

"Hey, don't go too far!" Yuuri called.

Obediently, Victor swam back and they met in the middle. They floated next to each other before Victor looked up. Yuuri followed his gaze and allowed his body to drift. The sky was beautiful: the moon, the stars speckled across the expanse of dark, dark blue. Yuuri had missed this. It looked so different in the cities around the world, even if it was the same moon and stars.

It felt different, too. This, now, this was home.

Yuuri sighed.

"It's so pretty, isn't it?" Victor asked.

Yuuri hummed. There was something peaceful about looking into the stars while floating in the ocean water: if Yuuri closed his eyes, he could almost imagine he was floating in space, somewhere distant where none of his problems were real.

He was rudely interrupted by a splash. And then, a hand closed around his ankle and pulled him underwater before Yuuri could even react.

Victor's laughter was loud when Yuuri remerged, spitting out the water that made it into his mouth and glaring at the fucking child before him.

"Very mature," he commented, splashing Victor with his hand. Victor was still giggling, bright-eyed and flushed, and honestly – Yuuri couldn't get himself to stay mad at him like this. "What if I choked?"

"I'd have to resuscitate you," Victor replied, swimming up closer. "What a shame that would be."

Yuuri's lips twitched in a smile. "Yes, what a terrible waste of perfectly good air."

Victor leaned in and Yuuri lifted his head up. The kiss was quick as the waves pulled them away. But Victor didn't swim back. He stayed close, watching Yuuri intently, as if he was searching for an answer to some question and couldn't find it.

"What is it?" Yuuri asked, but Victor only shook his head with a smile.

"Last one to the shore walks home naked!" Victor announced, and kicked off.

Yuuri gaped after him, before he pulled himself together and chased after Victor's silver head. They crawled onto the shore at the same time – Yuuri breathing heavily from effort and Victor laughing joyously. Yuuri bumped his shoulder hard into Victor's, which send Victor right into the sand. Yuuri collapsed next to him, rolled onto his back and groaned.

"You're crazy."

His only reply was Victor's crazy laugh. It sounded cute. Damn him.

Yuuri was grinning, too.

The waves splashed against their feet. The minutes ticked by. Tick tock, tick tock. Yuuri's heartbeat should be calming down, but it was still fast, still excited.

He turned his head to the side to see Victor watching him with that same searching gaze as before. Yuuri pushed himself up and rolled to the side, hovering over Victor and looking down at him with as much focus as he could muster.

"What are you looking for?" Yuuri asked.

Victor shook his head.

"I don't know. I'm–" He smiled, sheepish and sweet. "I don't know. But I'm glad I'm here. With you."

Damn him, Yuuri thought again. _Damn._

He dipped his head down, but before he could kiss Victor's wet lips, Victor spoke again:

"Which one are you?" he asked.

_Ah._

"Does it matter?" Yuuri asked back. Their breaths mingled softly. "I'm just Yuuri."

The corners of Victor's mouth lifted in a smile.

"You're right," he said. "You're just Yuuri. My Yurenka."

A hand sticky with sand rested on his nape and pulled Yuuri in the rest of the way. The ocean water he tasted on Victor's lips was sweet like moonlight.

 

 

 

 

"What did you really tell your family about me?"

Yuuri looked up from where he was folding his laundry. His mother had just dropped off an entire basket of it, chirped something sweet at Victor, patted his shoulder and swept out of the room. Her kindness, her acceptance always gave Victor pause.

"What do you mean?" Yuuri asked, putting aside the folded shirt and reaching for another.

"I mean, I showed up here out of nowhere. Surely they had questions?"

Yuuri hummed. "They think you're my friend. I think."

"So you didn't tell them anything? Is this how they treat all your friends?" Victor asked again.

"I don't really bring people home," Yuuri said. His hands worked diligently and Victor found that observing them was more of a tell than watching Yuuri's face. "I'm rarely here myself. So... Mm..." Yuuri's fingers paused for a second and then resumed their work. "They might think we're more than friends, to be honest. Mari keeps calling you my boyfriend, so I guess that could've given them the idea. I don't particularly want to lie to my family, so I never told them otherwise."

Boyfriend. That sounded so... normal.

The rapid hammering of Victor's heart inside his chest was anything but.

"Oh," Victor said very intelligently.

Yuuri shrugged. "It's nothing to worry about. I don't think they expect grandchildren from either me or Mari, so you can relax. They won't be getting on your case."

That wasn't what Victor was thinking, but now that Yuuri said it, the very idea made Victor feel dizzy. Children? His and Yuuri's? That was– _no_.

"Actually, they might quite like you," Yuuri added, looking up with a small smile. "If you haven't noticed."

"I've noticed," Victor replied, feeling his own face accommodate a smile. "I quite like them, too."

Yuuri's hands smoothed out the winkles of the next shirt.

"Good."

 

 

 

 

"I know," Yuuri said, almost two weeks later, when Victor finally decided to ask him about his double. "I know he's there, in my head."

He smiled, a sad little curl of lips.

They were seated together in the dining area. It was early afternoon and the sun was gently setting over the slope of the horizon. Time seemed to stand still in this place, Victor noticed. The days passed, but he didn't feel it at all.

Yuuri pushed his glasses up with a finger – another difference between him and Eros that Victor noticed. Yuuri wore his glasses, hid his body away from sight, shied away from attention as if it embarrassed him. Eros didn't. He preferred contacts, clothes that fit him like second skin, and drew people's eyes like the flame calling out to moths.

They were polar opposites. 

"I don't like it," Yuuri admitted. "I don't like what he's doing, but... he's doing it to save me, I think."

"Save you?" Victor asked, frowning. "From what?"

In the days leading up till now they grew closer. Yuuri seemed to remember Victor from that one time they slept together in London. Back then Victor didn't notice the switch, but when he thought about it now, there was a moment when the apologies spilled out of Yuuri's lips in a show of weakness that Eros would never allow. From then, Yuuri knew that Eros was close with Victor, but Victor couldn't tell if Yuuri was aware that Victor was the same kind of person Eros was. There was no way to know for sure and Victor was too afraid of losing Yuuri's trust to ask.

So he remained quiet about that and continued to lead a carefree relationship with Yuuri: burning midnight oil while talking about everything and nothing, taking long beach walks, skating at the rink that Yuuri had brought him to, and laughing along when he landed on his ass time after time.

"Our grandfather," Yuuri began, shifting back to prop himself on his hands while he looked off into the distance with an unreadable expression. "He was one of the local mafia's enforcers. This inn used to be quite a lucrative business under his hand."

Victor hummed. Dealings with the mafia never ended well, so he could already somewhat guess where this was going, but he remained quiet and let Yuuri continue.

"When my parents married and took over the business, my father decided to part ways with that side of income," Yuuri explained. "Grandpa wasn't happy, but he understood. Everything was fairly peaceful while he was still alive and kept the goons at bay. After he died, though..."

Yuuri paused, lost in thought. Victor could understand why.

"They came back for what they were owed, didn't they?" he asked.

Yuuri nodded.

"Of course, my parents didn't want anything to do with them. Grandpa had been teaching me things before he died, just some self defence and theoretical things, nothing too out there. But, well, I..." Yuuri gave Victor a sheepish smile. "I was young and stupid. I offered myself in exchange for the group to leave the inn alone."

Victor's chest hurt as he watched the self-deprecating smile deepen the shadows around Yuuri's eyes. He forced himself to release the breath he withheld at the admission, and the pain lessened, but it didn't completely disappear.

"They trained me," Yuuri continued. "It... it wasn't the same as training with grandpa. That's when he appeared first, too. I think it was my first mission, my first kill, but I don't remember it. That's– He–" Yuuri paused, waving a frustrated hand. "Whenever he takes over, I always lose the memory of it. That's why it's always so scary. I never know when it could happen and once it does, I don't know where I am or what I've done. It's terrifying, like you're not fully responsible for your own actions, but _you are_..."

Yuuri finished in a shaky whisper. He shivered visibly. It was almost an instinct when Victor reached for Yuuri's hand and twined their fingers together in a silent show of support. The smile he was rewarded with was definitely worth it, Victor decided.

"They used me for as long as they could and then once they were done, I was sold to the highest bidder," Yuuri said, a bitter edge to his voice. "Or that's what I think happened, because it was him who went through it. He fights me for control a lot, and I think he likes what he's doing– no, I know it."

Yuuri's hand tightened around Victor's fingers. Victor squeezed back, rubbing his thumb soothingly against Yuuri's roughened skin. It was a hand of a fighter, of a killer, but Yuuri wasn't the person this hand belonged to, not fully.

Honestly, Victor still had trouble wrapping his head around it.

Yuuri shot Victor a small, grateful smile.

"I know he likes killing, I know it," Yuuri repeated. "But I also know that isn't the only reason he takes over. He's also trying to protect me from it. From the violence, from... I guess you could say, from my conscience? And I let him, because it's easier that way. Simple. What I can't see, can't remember, I can pretend it never happened."

Victor couldn't help the sad quirk of his own mouth. Life wasn't that kind.

"And then you showed up," Yuuri said.

Victor's eyes snapped up. "Me?"

"I don't exactly know who you are, to be quite honest," Yuuri explained, looking at Victor with an intensity that Victor had never seen from him. An idea that it might have been Eros passed through Victor's mind, but then Yuuri continued: "I don't know how we met. I don't know your full name or what you do for a living. But I know what you've shown me and... you're a kind man, Victor."

Yuuri smiled at Victor's bewildered expression.

"You brighten up when my mother lets you help her cook. You cheer on my father's favourite football team, even though it sucks. You banter with my sister, and you melt whenever my dog licks your hand."

It wasn't very professional of him, but Victor had no professional bone left in his entire body. The smile Yuuri was directing at him was making him as boneless as Vicchan's sweet face. Victor blushed, lifting a hand to rub at the bridge of his nose in embarrassment.

He didn't mean to do all those things. He didn't mean to care that much. But somewhere along the way...

"You're a good man, Victor," Yuuri repeated, squeezing Victor's hand. "I'm glad you're here, but I have to warn you, too."

Victor lifted an eyebrow, blushing forgotten. Yuuri's face changed again, this time into something more sombre.

"He wants to kill you," Yuuri admitted.

"You mean, Ero–"

Yuuri moved so fast that Victor couldn't even react when Yuuri's free hand slapped against his mouth, cutting him off. Yuuri's face darkened, the edge of panic worming its way into his brown eyes.

"Don't say his name out loud," Yuuri hissed. "It calls to him. I'm still– I don't want to leave yet."

Victor nodded and Yuuri pulled his hand back. It didn't occur to him, but now Victor realized: just because Yuuri wasn't Eros, didn't mean he wasn't capable of the same things. They shared the same body, the same reflexes, the same skills. There wasn't as much distinction between them as Victor had come to believe. A small thing like this had just shown him that.

"So he wants to kill me, you said?" Victor asked. "I already knew that. That's, well, that's kind of our thing?"

He sent Yuuri a slightly sheepish smile.

"So you really are...?" Yuuri started and Victor only nodded.

"I do what he does, too," Victor agreed. "Just for a different employer. And..." Victor paused, unsure if he should speak of it, but this far Yuuri didn't run away screaming, so he took a chance on it. "I was also ordered to kill him. The, um," he waved a hand awkwardly in Yuuri's direction, "the other you?"

Yuuri nodded like he'd been expecting it all along. He probably was, Victor realized. It was pretty obvious, now that he thought about it: Victor did pull a gun out on Yuuri the first time they saw each other here in Japan.

"It doesn't bother you?" Victor found himself asking. "That one day I might kill you?"

Yuuri opened his mouth and closed it, before he smiled a little to himself. His eyes were clear of fear when he met Victor's gaze.

"I'm not scared of dying," he said. "And if it's you... I'm not scared at all."

His hand squeezed Victor's lightly, and with it, it squeezed out the last of Victor's resolve to follow through with his orders.

 

 

 

 

Victor Nikiforov was a strange creature, Yuuri decided. He was fairly sure that Victor knew about his secret, about the other Yuuri. And yet, Victor didn't seem to be bothered by it. It was either that he simply didn't care – which was undeniably thrilling and meant that Yuuri could be himself around him, a thought that tempted him more and more each day even despite the game they were both main players in – or Victor was a better actor that Yuuri had previously given him the credit for.

There was one time, though, when Victor's responses were the most honest with his feelings.

Yuuri pushed his fingers deeper into Victor's greedy hole, curling them lightly and dragging over the soft, tender inside. Victor's moan was muffled by his own hand and Yuuri gave his quivering belly a little kiss at that.

"Good boy," he praised with a pleased smirk. "Keep it down, just like that. We don't want anyone to hear your sweet voice, do we?"

Victor shook his head, but it might have been because of the pressure Yuuri's fingers were putting on his prostate. Either way, Victor, when reduced to this, was an open book that Yuuri wanted to learn by heart: word for word, moan for moan.

He licked his lips, adding another finger. Victor's loose hole accepted him easily, so Yuuri fucked his hand into him while satisfaction burned in his chest with a steady flame.

"You look so good, dearie," he told Victor. "So perfect. Just for me."

The usually pale face was now flushed and Victor's blue eyes were glossy, catching light like gemstones. Victor's hair was spilled over the pillows like a silver curtain of moonlight. He continued to bite his lips, to hush the noises rising in his throat, which made the soft flesh turn deep, dark red, like the blood that Yuuri so vividly remembered licking off Victor's neck.

The mere memory made him shiver with want.

Yuuri pulled his fingers out, rubbing the remnants of lube into Victor's twitching, empty hole.

"You want me, don't you?" Yuuri asked. "I can see how you want me. Tell me, Victor, which one of me do you like better?"

Victor's breath sounded like a prayer when he opened his mouth.

"If I don't get fucked on your dick right now I'll die," Victor quickly said, ignoring Yuuri's question. "I'll honest to god die, Yuuri, please, come on, just get inside!"

Now, that would not do. Yuuri dipped his fingers into Victor, just the tips, just a tease, and then he pulled out. Victor whined impatiently, but it was Yuuri's turn to ignore him.

"Which one, Victor?" he pressed. Dipping his fingers back into him. "Which one do you like better?"

He pulled his fingers out, circling the stretched out hole. His touch was featherlight: there, but so light that it felt more like an itch. Victor's hips jerked and his cock jumped on his stomach.

"I don't–" Victor threw his head from side to side. "I don't have a favourite. Yuuri, please, come on, fuck me!"

Yuuri tsked. "Not until you tell me what I want to hear. Which is it, my sweet, darling Victor?"

Victor moaned, reaching down with one of his hands as if he wanted to finger himself in place of Yuuri's teasing. Yuuri caught that in time and grabbed Victor's hand. He twined their fingers together, squeezing hard.

Victor groaned again.

"Both," he panted. "I like both of you!"

"Really?" Yuuri asked, sceptical. "Even that scaredy-cat?"

"He has other good things going for him," Victor said. "He's sweet and kind and gentle–"

"Sounds like you like him quite a bit."

Yuuri withdrew his hand completely. He wasn't jealous of his other self. He was glad the two seemed to be having fun together, for the short while it'd last. His face must have shown a fraction of his thoughts, because Victor lifted himself up and tugged Yuuri's face to him.

"And I like both of you the same," Victor told him. He looked a mess, but his eyes had a fierce fire to them, so Yuuri listened. "You're both Yuuri. You're both the same person, just different emotions. And I like you both."

A shallow breath of surprise left Yuuri's lips. It could've been a game. It could've been a ploy. Victor could be lying, he could–

"Now fuck me or I'll go insane here," Victor bit out, falling back onto the pillows. He spread his legs again in a lewd invitation and smirked up at Yuuri. "Fuck me, Eros, _fuck me good_."

Yuuri couldn't resist a plea like that. He chuckled, pushing back the rest of his thoughts. Victor was a master hitman. He was a good liar. But ever since they met, there was something off about him. Now, looking down at the great Grand Prix spread naked on his childhood bed, Yuuri knew that he'd finally found Victor's one unexploited weakness. And he would be the only one to use it, he vowed. This secret would be his to benefit from, his to keep, and his to take to his grave.

He rolled the condom onto his throbbing cock and settled between Victor's legs, but before he pushed into Victor, he looked up.

"Would you kill me if I denied you?" he asked. Cock in hand, he rubbed the tip on Victor's gaping hole that twitched, begging to be filled. "Would you take a knife to my throat and ride my dick while I bleed to death under you?"

Victor hissed, but the way his hips jerked desperately to take Yuuri in was enough of a tell. Yuuri smirked. He let the tip of his cock dip into Victor's hole and then pulled back. Teasing him was so fulfilling, Yuuri could feel his own arousal heighten his senses into overdrive.

"You would, wouldn't you?" Yuuri taunted. "You'd do everything for this dick, Victor. You're addicted to this, as much as me. We make quite a pair, don't you think?"

Victor's moan broke free past his lips, but it got cut off by Victor's own growl that ripped from his throat when Yuuri once again pulled out of him.

"If you don't fuck me right now, I'll flip you over and fuck you raw without prep," Victor threatened.

Yuuri had to tighten his grip on his dick when it pulsed dangerously close to release at Victor's heated words. _Fuck_ , Yuuri thought, that doesn't sound too bad. Thinking of how much pain Yuuri would be in during, and a few days after only made the idea even more tempting.

"If you're still up to it after I'm done with you, my ass is at your disposal," Yuuri promised, and thrust his cock into Victor with one fluid snap of his hips.

Victor arched off the bed with an aborted cry that Yuuri muffled with his own hand. He didn't wait for Victor to come down from the high, he pulled back and rammed into him once more. The force of it moved Victor up and down the bed like a ragdoll and only Yuuri's hand pressed against Victor's mouth kept him from crying out loud.

Yuuri had to bite his own lip to keep from coming on the spot: Victor's debauched with pleasure face was too much of a turn on. He pounded Victor's hole, fast and hard, only pausing to shift the angle so he could make that beautiful cock that leaked precum onto Victor's stomach bob with every thrust as it throbbed for release.

Victor's legs were lifted, one bent in the knee and slung over Yuuri's elbow, the other held down by Yuuri's hand so he could see the gorgeous sight of his dick fucking in and out of Victor's slick hole.

"Fuck," Yuuri cursed when Victor's insides clamped around him once he hit his prostate. "Fuck, fuck, fuck... You're gorgeous, so beautiful, look at you swallowing my dick so greedily."

Victor kept his free hand firmly pressed over his mouth, but right then he let it fall. He reached for Yuuri with the other, begging him forward.

"Kiss me," he demanded. "Kiss me right now, Yuuri Katsuki."

There was no deity that could've made Yuuri do anything else in that moment. He surged forward, pushing his cock even deeper into Victor, but he made it – their lips met, cool against hot. Filthy, slick with saliva tongues slid together while Yuuri throbbed inside Victor, aching.

"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, Victor Nikiforov," Yuuri told him once they broke the kiss. "And now, you're mine."

Victor was too slow to withhold the moan that spilled out of his mouth then. But Yuuri couldn't care less.

Let them know, he thought, fucking deep into Victor again until they were both frenzied with the need to come.

Let them know, he growled, as he thrust into Victor for the final time before the orgasm hit them both at the same time. Yuuri rode through it, pulling deliciously broken sounds from Victor with each snap of his hips.

Let them know, he smirked and collapsed right into Victor's limp, but welcoming arms.

_He's mine._

 

 


	7. Home

 

 

"There's a festival in the next town over," Yuuri said one day during breakfast. "Want to go?"

Victor did not have to be asked twice. He quickly chewed down his food.

"That sounds so fun! Let's go, let's go!" He grinned. "Do we get to dress up in kimonos?"

"Kimono are for special occasions," Yuuri explained, putting down his chopsticks once he was done eating. "And they are far more simplified for men. You wouldn't get those bright colours that the women have."

Victor pouted. "That's not fair."

Yuuri shrugged, but then he looked up with something sly in his expression. His brown eyes gleamed behind his glasses and when his lips curled, Victor knew what was coming.

"What? Are you trying to impress someone with your beauty?" Yuuri teased.

It didn't take long for Victor to follow. He returned the smirk and leaned over to bring their faces closer.

"What if I am?" he asked.

The corner of Yuuri's mouth twitched. Victor's eyes caught on it, and he couldn't look away.

"I think we can find some yukatas for you to try on instead," Yuuri said.

Victor was drawn to the way Yuuri's lips moved when he spoke the Japanese words, so fluid, so–

"But I think the person you're trying to impress is already impressed enough," Yuuri added.

And then he closed the rest of the distance between them and pressed his perfect lips to Victor's. It was only a small peck, so when Victor shifted to capture Yuuri in a longer kiss, Yuuri ran away with a laugh. Victor's mood was hardly affected, though. He kept on grinning, and grinned even more when Yuuri brought an armful of fabric to Victor's room and continued to dress Victor in a yukata after yukata.

They were all stunning and Victor privately believed he looked good in every colour combination they had. He would've gladly worn one to the festival, except for a tiny detail... they were all too small.

"Shame," Yuuri said. "You did look quite pretty in the green one."

Victor cooed. "Did you just say I'm pretty, Yurenka?"

"I did, didn't I?" Victor didn't need to look to hear the smile in Yuuri's voice. "Can't hide the truth. Though..."

"Though?" Victor turned around, catching the edge of Yuuri's smirk right before Yuuri left the room with the yukatas.  

"You're always pretty," Yuuri said, and then he was gone.

Victor's breath caught in his throat. Now that was a foul play.

"Yuuri!" he whined.

Yuuri's laughter was his only reply, and honestly, how could Victor be anything but charmed by it?

 

 

 

 

Victor always looked good in cool colours like blue or green, but the festival was full of bright orange and red lanterns, lamps with dim yellow lighting, and honestly, how could Yuuri be anything but charmed by how beautifully it brought out Victor's blush?

Victor was wearing a simple pair of jeans and a navy shirt so dark it almost seemed black. Yuuri liked him in the yukatas he'd helped him try on before, but he had to admit he liked him more like this: at ease, relaxed, with two top buttons popped open to show the tantalizing dip between his collarbones.

Victor's hair got quite messy from the wind that was rustling around. He looked cute. He looked excited. He looked... happy.

Yuuri couldn't tell if it was his own wish or if it was a remnant of Eros' scheming, but he wanted to keep him. For as long as he could, he wanted Victor to be his. It was a selfish desire, he knew, but the days they spent together were the most vibrant of Yuuri's memories and he didn't want to think that someday soon he'd have to return Victor to the world.

Because Victor wasn't his.

Like this, when he smiled that little heart-shaped smile and pointed to another stall with childlike curiosity, he was, yes. But this wasn't all there was to Victor and that other part of him would be coming for blood anytime now. Yuuri dreaded to think of it, but the uncomfortable awareness of what had to happen next was everpresent at the back of his head. Just like Eros.

"Yurenka, love, what's that?" Victor asked, distracting Yuuri from his thoughts.

Yuuri looked to where Victor's eyes were glued and he smiled. He took Victor's hand and pulled him over to the stall with a big tank filled with water, where dozens of tiny goldfish were leisurely swimming around. There was only one person there, trying to scoop a stubborn fish into their bowl, so Yuuri grinned and paid for their turn.

"It's called kingyo sukui," he told Victor with a grin and pulled him down into a crouch. He twirled the paper scoop in his hand. "You get this thing and you need to flip one of the goldfish into your bowl. If you do, you can keep the goldfish or exchange them for a prize."

Victor's eyes were wide with wonder. "Wow, amazing! Can I try?"

Yuuri handed him the scoop and the bowl.

"Be careful, the paper on the scoop is very thin so it breaks–" Yuuri wasn't even finished when Victor's first try ended up with the paper ripped apart. "–easily. See, that's how. Great job."

Victor pouted at him, which had Yuuri laughing. Yuuri patted Victor's arm. He pointed to where the owner of the stall was holding out another scoop for Victor to use.

"You get three tries, so two more left," Yuuri told him. "Third time's the charm, right?"

"I'm just warming up, shush," Victor replied.

Yuuri had a silly thought that he might stick his tongue out at him, but Victor only went back to focusing on the fish. His eyes got intense and he struck out fast. The goldfish jumped out of the water, but Victor was so focused on accomplishing that, he forgot to catch it into the bowl and the fish plopped back into the water with a tiny splash.

Yuuri grinned. "Too bad."

"Third time's the charm, you said," Victor pointed out, taking the last scoop from the owner.

He tried again and... the scoop broke just as the fish bumped into it and swam away. Victor's disappointed pout had to be the cutest thing Yuuri saw that day, so he felt no shame when he leaned closer to kiss Victor's cheek.

"Your consolation prize," he said when Victor's head turned to him and almost immediately the heart-shaped smile was back on his face. Yuuri chuckled.

"Why, if that's what I get for losing then I wouldn't mind being a loser for the rest of my life," Victor chirped.

"Charmer," Yuuri shot back. A wink was Victor's only comeback, but Yuuri was grinning now, too, so he'd have to say it was a draw. "Let's get some takoyaki. And then I'll show you something you'll definitely ace."

"Oh?" Victor tilted his head. "How to win your heart, perhaps?"

Yuuri turned his head away as he began walking towards the takoyaki stand, all to hide his smile.

"You've already won it," he said quietly, but it must have been drowned in the noise of the festival, because Victor asked him to repeat what he'd said. Yuuri shook his head, smiling. "S-e-c-r-e-t."

Victor's pout lasted for as long as it took them to get their food, but the moment Yuuri brought one of his takoyaki balls to Victor's lips it melted with a sauce stained smile and disappeared completely. The sound of pure awe and approval left Victor's throat while he chewed, making Yuuri laugh quietly as he ate his own portion. They shared the entire plate, since Victor insisted on being fed by Yuuri's hand after the first bite, and then kissed the leftovers of the sauce off each other's lips.

Sweetness burned in Yuuri's veins like something alien, but also familiar and warm like the scent of home. It was confusing, distracting. He wasn't used to this. There was never anyone like Victor in his life before, no one he wanted to hold onto like this. It scared Yuuri a little, but at the same time it put a calming balm on his heart as if he had finally found his place in the world.

Yuuri's own free will brought him and Victor close, because Yuuri wanted wanted to give a chance to something he'd never dared to consider before. Even if the catalyst for it was his other self, Yuuri wanted it as much as Eros did. Eros, who wanted to kill Victor – Victor, whom Yuuri loved.

Thinking of it only made Yuuri dizzy with fear and hurt. More than Yuuri could handle.

"Are you okay?" Victor asked, worry shining in his eyes. "You got this faraway look..."

Yuuri shook his head and forced himself to smile. Victor didn't return it, as if he'd seen through Yuuri's mask at a glance. He probably did, Yuuri realized, and he let the smile slip off his face.

"Just thinking about us," Yuuri said. "It's... strange, feeling two different things for you."

"Two things?" Victor questioned, but Yuuri was already backtracking.

"You know what, forget it," he quickly said. "We're having fun today, no heavy thoughts! Let's go to the shooting range."

Victor gave him one more glance, but allowed Yuuri to bury the topic.

"You have a shooting range here?" he asked once he'd caught up with what Yuuri just said. "Oh, that sounds fun! How about a little spar, Mr. Sniper?"

Yuuri pushed back at the darkness that was creeping along the back of his mind, blinked, and grinned.

"You're on."

 

 

 

 

Yuuri looked unfairly good with windswept hair and a gun tucked to his cheek. Victor was undeniably distracted, so it was no wonder that the cork of his gun flew towards God knows where when his finger slipped off the trigger. Oh well.

Yuuri made three out of the five needed shots for the small poodle plushie while Victor was swooning. He must have known all along that Victor was looking, because a tiny smirk was present on his face as he loaded up another cork and put the gun to his cheek again.

"If you don't shoot, I'll take your shots for you," Yuuri said, giving Victor a brief glance after he'd made yet another shot. He reloaded and grinned at Victor. "Where's your famous aim, Grand Prix?"

"Forgive me," Victor said back, grinning as well. "I was eyeing a different sort of prize. Say, if I shoot you five times, do I get to keep you?"

Yuuri laughed. It messed up with his aim and by accident, he pulled the trigger too early and the cork flew through the air only to completely miss its target. Yuuri's laughter stopped, replaced by the cutest pout Victor's ever seen.

Without a second to think, Victor lifted his gun and shot the same poodle repeatedly until his turn was over. The guy manning the shooting range handed him the poodle that Victor didn't wait to give to Yuuri with an apologetic smile.

"Here," Victor said. "It was my fault you missed, so..."

Yuuri accepted the toy, ducking his head to hide a smile that Victor caught anyway. His own smile widened when Yuuri took his hand and lead him away, and it widened still when Yuuri never let go as they coursed through the crowd.

"There's going to be a fireworks show in about an hour, I think," Yuuri said after they got their kakigoori.

They'd left the festival area and climbed up the small hill where people were already gathering to see the fireworks. The grass was still warm from the sun, so they sat down, eating and bickering like Victor had seen so many times in the movies. This entire night felt like something straight out of a movie, he thought, as he reached out to wipe some leftover syrup from the corner of Yuuri's mouth. 

Yuuri smiled at him, sweet and lovely, and Victor felt his heart thunder like a thousand fireworks were going off in his chest. Who needed the real deal when he had this?

Yuuri lied down on the grass, looking up at the sky with lazy contentment. Victor was tempted to join him, just so he could stay close to the warmth of Yuuri's body, but watching Yuuri from above was a luxury, too.

It was dark, darker than it was between the stalls where it was easy to see the glimmering hope and affection in Yuuri's eyes. Here, between the darkness and other people's whispers, Yuuri's face was shadowed and drawn. He looked like he was thinking deep, difficult thoughts and the wrinkle that appeared between his brows every now and then reminded Victor of the promise Yuuri made before.

"Hey," Victor said, leaning down on his elbow to block Yuuri's view. Brown eyes blinked at him from behind the glasses and Victor smiled. "What happened to not thinking heavy thoughts?"

The sheepish curl of Yuuri's lips was enough of an apology for Victor, but just in case, Yuuri added:

"Sorry," he said. "I can't help it. I just… I want this moment to last. Is that selfish of me? To want to keep you to myself?"

Victor's heart throbbed hard. This was Yuuri, he tried to tell himself. Eros definitely felt differently about him. Don't give yourself hope, he chided his stupid, naive heart.

"Yurenka–"

"I know, I know," Yuuri interrupted him before Victor could say anything. Frankly, Victor didn't even know what it was he was trying to say, so it was just as good. "I know."

Yuuri rubbed at his face with his hands, tilting his glasses up to the top of his forehead, and pushed the heels of his palms into his eyes. Frustration was rolling off of him, Victor could feel it. And he could see it in the upset curl of Yuuri's mouth.

"You're only here for a moment," Yuuri continued. "I know. You're going to leave, I know. You aren't mine to keep, I know. You have your life, one that I don't factor in at all, _I know._ "

"That wasn't what I tried to say," Victor stopped him, finally.

His mind was still frozen on one thing: Yuuri wanted him to stay. Yuuri knew who Victor was, what he was doing, what he was meant to do to Eros, and still… he wanted him.

Breathing was hard through his tightened throat, but Victor continued to do so, just so he could speak.

"Yuuri, I–"

The rest of his words were drowned when the first of the fireworks shot up to the sky and burst with a bang that rattled Victor's teeth in his mouth. He closed his eyes and sighed. There went his reassurance.

The fireworks were going off above their heads, but Victor couldn't get himself to turn and look up. When he finally opened his eyes, Yuuri was still lying down, but his eyes were focused on Victor. In the reflection of his glasses, Victor could see the different shapes and colours of the fireworks, but he couldn't care about missing them.

Suddenly, Yuuri sat up. His glasses slid down onto his nose and he almost knocked Victor to the side, but before Victor could shift away to give him space, Yuuri caught his wrist and pulled him to stand just as he himself jumped to his feet. Victor barely scrambled up and already he was being pulled away by Yuuris insistent hand.

"Where are we going?!" Victor tried to ask, but his voice got drowned in the cheers of the crowd and the sound of the fireworks going off.

Yuuri simply pulled him faster. They ran between the trees, between the people and couples and families. They ran until the world began to hush down into a soft lull of the night streets that was only broken by the cars passing by from time to time.

There, at last, Yuuri stopped.

"What–" Victor started, slightly out of breath.

"What were you saying?" Yuuri asked before he could finish. "When the fireworks started. You were saying… something?"

Yuuri was panting, too. He was gasping and his hair was wild. His eyes were wild as well, looking at Victor with intense, widened gaze that begged Victor to speak.

So speak he did.

"We ran all this way just for that? Yuuri!" he whined, collapsing against the railing of the sidewalk. "We could've talked after the fireworks. Now we're missing the show."

The flush on Yuuri's cheeks deepened with embarrassment.

"Sorry that my priorities lie elsewhere," he snapped.

It startled Victor enough that he'd looked up. Yuuri's jaw was set hard and he wasn't looking Victor's way.

"It's fine," Victor said after a moment of tense silence. "I didn't want to see the fireworks anyway."

"Stop," Yuuri told him, voice harsh and not what Victor expected. "Don't say what you think I want to hear."

"Then what do you want me to say?" Victor snapped back.

"I don't know!" Yuuri raised his voice, but he finally looked at Victor. His eyes were narrowed, angry, and direct. "What were you going to say, then?"

Victor set his lips together, swallowed, and said:

"I was going to say that I want to keep you to myself, too. You aren't selfish. Or, if you are, I'm selfish, too."

Yuuri said nothing to that. And Victor said nothing more.

In tense silence, Yuuri sat down next to Victor on the railing, close enough to let their hips touch. It wasn't a lot, but it instantly made Victor feel better. His shoulders slumped and he tilted to the side until he bumped into Yuuri. Yuuri's hand reached for Victor's and Victor let him take it, palm up, open, and willing.

"Let's go back," Yuuri said after a while.

Victor nodded, and they walked. Hand in hand, slowly. They didn't speak, but Victor felt it wasn't because of the anger, because of the argument. There was something sombre between them now, something sensitive like a freshly closed  wound that could be scabbed open by the slightest of touches.

And against everything that was thrown at them, Victor wanted this peace to last, even if it was so fragile.

It didn't.

It broke with a phone call, a vibration inside the pocket of his jeans. Yuuri was buying them tickets for the next train home, so Victor accepted the call, already knowing what would greet him on the other side.

"Where the hell are you, Prix?!" Sasha's voice boomed in his ear. "We've been busting our asses trying to find you. How the hell did you get the tracker off your phone, you asshole? Don't do that to me, I did nothing to deserve this hell of a job!"

"Sorry, sorry," Victor said with fake lightness, watching Yuuri's back. There was a sinking, heavy feeling inside his chest that grew with each breath he took. "You need me for something?"

"Damn right we do!" Sasha barked. "I've been trying to get a hold of you for a week now, where the hell are you?" Before Victor could even open his mouth to lie, Sasha continued. "You know what, forget it. Get your ass on the next plane to Stockholm, you got work to do."

"Do I have to?" Victor asked. "Can't you get Fairy to do it? Or Queen? Or–"

"Stop playing around," Sasha told him, voice harsh. Victor rarely heard him like that and he snapped his mouth shut. "Are you coming back? Or do I get to tell Yakov my best man has gone rouge?"

Yuuri's back straightened and he turned his head as if he felt Victor's gaze on him. He smiled when he caught Victor's eye and Victor smiled back, even if it was strained.

"Yeah," he said. "I'm coming back."

His heart, though, was going to stay in Japan. He was sure of it.  

 

 

 

 

"I'm leaving tomorrow," Victor said as they sat next to each other on the train back to Hasetsu.

Yuuri was playing with his phone when Victor spoke up. It was abrupt, Victor knew, and he was fully prepared to explain himself, but Yuuri didn't even lift his gaze off the screen.

"Okay," he simply replied.

"Just... okay?" Victor asked, trying not to feel put out about Yuuri's lack of a reaction and failing. "You aren't upset?"

Yuuri locked his phone and put it in his pocket before he looked at Victor. He smiled a little, but it wasn't his beautiful smile – this one was quite sad, and Victor found himself lifting a hand to rub at the corner of Yuuri's mouth until it quirked into something that resembled his usual smile more.

"It's fine, Vitya."

Yuuri used the diminutive that Victor had taught him while they were drinking together and something sweet began to hurt in Victor's chest again.

"I knew this would happen sooner or later," Yuuri admitted. "You have work to do and my time off is coming to an end, too. It's fine."

Victor didn't say anything for a while. Yuuri was right, of course he was. But it didn't mean that Victor wasn't filled with regret and longing. This past month was the most fun he'd ever had outside of a job. He felt free, unburdened, and most importantly – welcome. It was hard to say goodbye to all of that, even though he knew that at some point he'd have to: he just didn't think it'd be so soon.

Victor sighed.

"I'm going to miss this," he finally said, a quiet admission that Eros might've laughed at, but Yuuri accepted with a hum and gentle, warm eyes.

"Me too," he agreed.

Yuuri's words didn't make Victor feel any better.

 

 

 

 

"Sleep with me today?" Victor asked while they were walking up the stairs to retire for the night. "Just to sleep. I want to... I want to feel you close just one more night."

Yuuri didn't have to think long to reply.

"Give me a second to change," he said.

Victor's smile was a mere shadow of what it used to be and Yuuri couldn't help but feel the same emptiness gnaw at him from inside out.

 

 

 

 

On the morning of his departure, Victor woke up to hot, wet mouth sucking on his dick. Before he even recognized that he was awake, a needy moan slipped past his dry lips, free and unbound in the appreciation of Yuuri's efforts. As far as wake up calls go, this one was more than perfect. Top three, Victor would say, right after waking next to Yuuri cuddled up to him and waking Yuuri with exactly what was happening now.

Victor's hand slipped into Yuuri's shaggy hair and he tugged on it in the way he knew set fire to Yuuri's blood, and true enough: Yuuri swallowed him deeper, harder, faster, and Victor came undone just like that.

Panting, while his heart and mind were still reeling from the surprise, Victor looked at Yuuri who slowly crawled up Victor's body. Yuuri's own leaking cock rubbed against Victor's thigh, stomach, chest along the way. If Victor hadn't just come, he was sure that just the sight would make him hard in an instance, because Yuuri looked like a predator out to get his fill – and Victor was his prey.

Some of Victor's cum was still leaking out the corner of Yuuri's mouth and Victor wiped it away with a thumb of the hand which he next closed around Yuuri's needy dick. He stroked it gently, thumbing at the slit and rubbing circles around the cute pink head. Neither of them spoke except for hums and moans they exchanged between their rushed breaths.

Even when Yuuri's orgasm hit him, he remained quiet: a shallow gasp made it past his lips as he shuddered his release into Victor's hand and then collapsed next to Victor with little to no strength left. Victor unceremoniously wiped his hand on the bed cover before he rolled to the side to keep his gaze on Yuuri's still ecstatic face.

It was a soft morning, like many they'd shared during Victor's stay in Hasetsu. The bed was warm with their shared heat and the morning light bathed everything with a tender glow: Yuuri's skin, Yuuri's hair, Yuuri's blush and parted, swollen lips.

Victor sighed so deep his lungs began to hurt. He didn't want to leave this.

"When is your flight leaving?" Reality crushed into him, speaking in Yuuri's voice.

Victor closed his eyes, lifted his arms and pulled Yuuri into him. He stayed like that for a while, hoping that he could change the future this way, but it was impossible. He had to go.

"Around four, I think," he mumbled into the crown of Yuuri's hair.

Yuuri hummed. One of his hands was playing with the small hair on Victor's nape and the other caressed his hip with lazy strokes. Both made him shiver in that comforting, sweet way that only Yuuri's touch made him feel.

God, Victor thought, swallowing through his tight throat, why can't I have this?

"I'll drive you down to the station after breakfast then," Yuuri said and Victor couldn't help but hold him tighter.

There was something stiff in the air between them when they got up, something heavy. Victor knew he was the reason for it, but there was nothing he could say to lift the tension. He couldn't stay. And Yuuri never asked for it, even if secretly Victor wanted him to. Still, there was no way he would agree, it would be too dangerous, but the selfish part of him craved to hear the words anyway – the words that Yuuri didn't speak, as if he knew it was a useless effort to try to stop Victor from going.

They dressed in silence and Victor finished up the rest of his packing before they went downstairs. Their hands brushed as they walked, their thighs touched as they ate, and when Victor was saying goodbye to sweet Hiroko and kind Toshiya, he could feel Yuuri's eyes on the back of his head.

"Take care," Mari only said when Victor offered her a hug like he did with the Katsuki parents before. "And don't let my little brother push you around. He'll do it if you let him."

"Hey," Yuuri piped in from behind Victor, but Victor only laughed. He recognized the truth in Mari's words. "Whose side are you on?"

"He's already doing it. I'm not sure I can help it," Victor replied, grinning.

Mari rolled her eyes, amused. A corner of her mouth was quirked in a smirk that reminded Victor of Eros with a painful throb in his chest.  

"We're off then," Yuuri said.

And that they were.

Yuuri started up the car and pulled out of the tiny onsen parking space. Victor looked out the window as the car passed by the buildings he'd come to cherish. The Ice Castle in the distance, the little green bakery, the convenience store at the corner where he and Yuuri always stopped for a breather during their jogging. It was strange to be this nostalgic about a place he'd only been a visitor to for such a short while, but Victor couldn't help it – this felt like leaving home without knowing when he'd be back.

Yuuri was quiet as he drove them down to the train station. The sun was peeking into the car right at the corner of the window on Yuuri's side and it bathed his face with an warm light. Yuuri looked human, casually so, and the reality of the situation suddenly hit Victor with a painful throb: he was leaving. He was going back to killing, back to hunting Eros in order to put a bullet through his head.

Was this how killing felt to normal people?

Victor's chest ached when Yuuri parked before the station building.

"We're here," Yuuri said, even though it wasn't needed. Still, Victor appreciated him trying to break the heaviness that hung in the air between them.

"Thanks for the ride." Victor put on a smile. "You don't have to walk me inside, this is fine."

Yuuri hummed. "I want to."

Before Victor could even begin to argue that "It's not necessary, Yuuri!", Yuuri was getting out of the car. He took Victor's bag out of the trunk by the time Victor found the strength to follow him and handed it to Victor without another word when Victor reached for it. They walked up to the ticket window, bought a one way ticket to Fukuoka and moved to stand on the platform that was as empty at this time of the day as it was when Victor first arrived.

"Where are you going?" Yuuri finally asked after minutes of staring at everything except Victor.

His expression was blank, voice mellow, and Victor wasn't sure who he was talking to: Eros, or Yuuri. In the end though, it hardly mattered. The answer Victor would give would be the same, what his heart dictated – the truth.

"Stockholm."

"That'll be a nice change from the sweltering Japanese summer."

"Honestly?" Victor smiled bitterly. "I'd take this heat over anything else in the world right now."

He didn't dare look at Yuuri when he said it. Admitting to his feelings still felt a little like he was opening himself up for an attack, like Yuuri could use it against him at any turn. He could hurt Victor without any real malice, and Eros could double the pain if he wanted to. He could, they could.

They didn't.

Yuuri's fingers touched Victor's hand lightly before he seemed to have gathered his courage and took it in his.

"I wish you didn't have to go," Yuuri admitted quietly and it was all Victor needed to snap his body around and throw himself on him.

It was hot, unbearably, and the warmth of Yuuri's body only made it worse, but Victor couldn't let go. He pressed himself as close as he could, wrapped his arms around Yuuri's shoulders and clung on for dear life. Yuuri's hands, his arms, they felt like red-hot iron chain around Victor's waist, burning their own brand into his skin. Just a few months ago Victor would've shrugged them off, killed anyone who wanted to pin him down, to keep him, to settle him down... but now?

He pressed his face into Yuuri's neck and breathed Yuuri in as if it was his last time.

"I don't want to go," he mumbled with his nose against Yuuri's collarbone.

"Victor–" Yuuri started and then corrected himself immediately: "Vitya, I–"

"Don't say it," Victor asked, scrunching his eyes shut. "Please. Don't say it. I won't be able to leave if you do."

"Then don't go!" Yuuri's arms tightened around Victor as if he wanted to physically keep him from going. "You can stay here, at the inn! We can help my parents run it, they've always wanted more help with the guests. It would be just like it was this past month: no business, no work; just us."

Victor sighed deeply.

"I can't," he said. "You know I can't."

Yuuri didn't say anything to that, but Victor felt him swallow heavily.

"You'll have to leave soon, too, won't you?" Victor asked, trying to distract them both. It worked, somehow, and Yuuri's desperate hands unclenched on Victor's shirt.

"Probably," Yuuri agreed. "He'll deal with it when it comes."

Eros.

Slowly, Victor pulled back so he could look Yuuri in the eye.

"Yuuri," he started gently, "would you mind if I talked to him for a bit before I leave?"

Yuuri closed his eyes as if he knew this was coming. He smiled a bit and then shook his head. His eyes didn't hold any hurt when he met Victor's gaze again, and Victor breathed deeper.

"He probably wants to talk to you, too," Yuuri said. "I don't really mind. But Vitya..." he paused and took Victor's hand, twining their fingers together tightly. "Promise me that one day, when we both can, we'll take another vacation just like this. We'll see each other again, like this. Not as enemies, but as..."

Words seem to be failing Yuuri. His voice grew thicker the more he spoke and his eyes gleamed over as if on the verge of tears. Victor could feel his own throat clench. He nodded, saving Yuuri from having to finish.

"I promise. One day, when we're both free."

Yuuri gave him a smile, sweet and tearful, and then he was gone.

It was something Victor had noticed over his stay here, but the switches between Eros and Yuuri seemed to be smoother now, more abrupt. It could happen in a blink of an eye, just like it did now.

Eros lifted his free hand to wipe his eyes under his glasses, but he didn't pull his other hand away from Victor's. It made Victor smile, a tiny bit.

"I'm going," Victor say.

Eros tilted his head to one side. "Have fun."

Victor laughed at how different this response was from Yuuri's. Somehow, this too, was incredibly endearing.

"You won't miss me?" he asked, smiling.

The corner of Eros' mouth quirked in a smirk. "Ah, I might. But I know you'll miss me more."

He booped a finger on Victor's nose, playful, and Victor laughed again.

"I can't really refute that," Victor agreed. "When will I see you again? Where are you going, after this?"

Eros hummed. "Here and there. We'll see."

"Oh, come now, give me a hint," Victor prodded. "How else am I supposed to chase after you if you don't even give me a hint?"

That earned him another of Eros' smirks. It felt good, this easy bickering they had going. Eros was more intense than Yuuri, he was more confident, more playful, but in the very end, Eros was still Yuuri and Yuuri was still Eros. They were a part of the same person whom Victor had come to–

"Love, you don't need hints," Eros crooned, climbing to his toes to bring their lips closer. "You've been doing just fine without them, no? I believe in you, remember that. Only you can catch me."

The tip of Eros' nose brushed against Victor's in a tender, loving way that had Victor's heart racing. He released a shuddering breath and pulled the back of Eros' head in to kiss him slow.

"I'll catch you," Victor promised, just as serious as the promise he made to Yuuri. "I'll catch you again and again, until we both grow bored of the game and settle down. I'll catch you."

"I expect nothing less from you, dearie."

Yuuri's breath tasted like home and Victor swore one last time, this time to himself, that this would one day be theirs.

 

 


	8. Little Silver Hoof

 

 

"Oh, Yuuri, hi! Give me a second, will you?"

Yuuri patiently waited while bangs, hissing and crunching came from the other line. Phichit's cursing in Thai wasn't as muffled as he'd probably expected over the phone and Yuuri had to stifle a laugh when Phichit finally came on again, panting and huffing.

"Everything alright?" Yuuri asked.

"Yeah, yeah, we're good," Phichit replied, a grin in his voice. "Just a little trouble with the kids, you know how it is." Yuuri did not know how it was, but he wasn't about to argue. "What's up, homeboy?"

"Nothing much, I'm doing good over here. Enjoying my time off and soaking in the hot onsen." Phichit's moan of jealousy made Yuuri's grin widen. "But I'm thinking of coming back soon. It gets kind of boring, doing nothing."

"Admit it, you just miss us."

Yuuri didn't need to see him to know Phichit was wiggling his eyebrows. Well, he wasn't too far from the truth.

"You know me so well," he said and Phichit laughed. "Anyway, I was wondering if you could dig something up for me before then."

Phichit hummed, instantly on alert. "What do you need?"

"There's this arms dealer in Spain," Yuuri explained. "He's got a whole underground net of warehouses across the country. Find me the one most trafficking comes in and out from."

"Mm, okay," Phichit agreed. "Consider it done, but... what do you need it for? It's not for an assignment, is it?"

"It isn't." Yuuri paused. He chewed on the inside of his lip as he debated how much he should tell Phichit about his intensions and then decided against it. "It's personal."

Phichit whistled. "What did the guy do?"

"Pissed off someone I'd like to impress."

"Oh?" Phichit's voice changed into a familiar tone of unhealthy curiosity. "Now you gotta spill the beans, my dude. I'm all ears."

Yuuri gave a little laugh and then told Phichit to fuck off as kindly as their friendship could handle. And it could handle a lot, as Phichit's answering laughter and the following threat to rat him out to Celestino told him.

 

 

 

 

The target this time was the Swedish Prime Minister, Hjalmar Hammarskjöld, who was scheduled to present a bill that rubbed some rich and spoiled the wrong way. Really, Victor sighed the moment he saw the mission's file, people thought of killing far too lightly these days. Though he wasn't one to complain: it put food on his table, so who was he to judge?

In a true Eros fashion, Victor settled himself up on the roof of the building Hjalmar's car would be passing under in exactly...

A look at the timer on his watch told him:

...four minutes and thirty seven seconds. Which meant Victor only had two minutes and thirty seconds before the car appeared at the end of the street where the shot needed to be made.

With professional calm of someone who did it a thousand times before, he put together the lose parts of his newly acquired rifle and set it down on the bipod propped on the edge of the roof. He checked the telescopic sight and the safety to see if they worked properly, and when everything was in perfect order he crouched in position.

Glance at the timer: 2:59.

Briefly, as he checked the wind direction to make sure his shoot won't go astray, he wondered what Eros would say, seeing him now. Sniper shots were his speciality, after all.

Would he smirk? Would he praise Victor? He'd probably tease him and say he still had lots more to learn before he could reach his level, and he'd be right.

Victor grinned to himself, imagining how much fun it would be if he and Eros ever got to work together.

2:15.

The light on the faraway street signalisation changed from red to green and the cars moved. Victor immediately spotted the black limo taking the right turn into Torsgatan Street.

2:07.

Victor took aim, and on an withheld breath pulled the trigger.

The bullet shot through the air. The sound echoed across the neighbourhood, spooking all the birds from the nearby roofs into flight.

2:00.

The bullet zipped through the mask and, like a bomb, the car blew up in flames with all the people inside it.

Victor smiled.

Eros would be proud.

 

 

 

 

Yuuri poured half the bottle of vodka over his hand knife and then took a swig himself. The alcohol burned in his mouth and throat as he swallowed one, two, three quick gulps. Grimacing, Yuuri put down the bottle within reach and brought the tip of the knife against the side of his stomach – just enough off the centre to avoid hitting anything serious.

And then he pushed the blade in.

It stung like hell, and Yuuri had to squeeze his eyes shut, clench his teeth and guide the knife with two hands, because they both trembled from the effort it took to keep going. He was fairly sure that if he paused to catch a breath, he wouldn't be able to continue, so he pushed himself and cut his own belly open, until the blood that was rolling down his stomach and thigh in luxurious drops of burgundy red dripped down onto the bathroom tiles.

With the knife still inside, Yuuri took a shaky breath. He reached for the vodka to numb the pain at least a little, and then slowly took the knife out. Like expected, blood gushed out of the wound freely, making a slippery mess on his abdomen. Yuuri wiped it with a towel, but it didn't help much as new blood welled from the wound.

He picked up the needle and surgical thread he'd acquired just for this. Before he began sewing himself close, he took his phone that rested on the closed seat of the toilet and dialled the number he'd swiped straight from Victor's phone one night.

Yuuri slumped down onto the toilet, leaning his bare back against the cold ceramic to keep his stomach flat and even, and waited to hear Victor's voice on the other end as the monotone sound of connecting call droned in his ear.

 

 

 

 

When he finally got back to his hotel room, all he wanted to do was to pack and go back to headquarters for just a breather. He loved it in Japan, he really did, but he'd missed the calm, beautiful St. Petersburg, too. A wish to show Yuuri around the city of his childhood bloomed strongly in Victor's chest with every second. Maybe one day they'd be able to enjoy it together, he hoped. Maybe soon? Yuuri told him to catch him and if Victor did, maybe he could name it as his prize?

With newfound excitement, Victor pulled out his phone to report on the success of the mission. His good mood disappeared as fast as it came, because another assignment was already waiting for him in the mail. There went his leisure time in St. Petersburg.

Victor scowled at it, before pointedly ignoring it and leaving to take a shower.

It was still there when he got back. And he still ignored it in favour of checking for any news of Eros.

There was none.

"Where are you?" Victor mumbled to himself and sighed when he got no reply.

He almost jumped when his phone ringed. Thinking it was Yakov, he scowled and waited a good five seconds before getting up.

It wasn't Yakov.

The unknown number was jarring, because no one should ever be able to call him unless they knew it, unless they were cleared by the agency or unless... they could hack around all of it.

Victor pushed the accept button so fast his finger hurt.

"Yes?"

There was only silence to greet him. He couldn't make out anything else – the sounds coming from the outside were too loud, muffling anything that could possibly be on the other line. Victor quickly moved to the bathroom and locked the door behind him. He pressed the phone more firmly to his ear, and there, with breath stuck in his throat, he heard it: the shallow breathing, slow and almost painful, as if the person on the other side was hurting.

Victor's heart stopped.

"Yurenka?" he asked, throat tight.

The gritty laughter that ended up with a quiet moan of pain was unmistakable. "You shouldn't sound so concerned."

There were so many questions in Victor's mind.

Where are you?

How did you get this number?

Why are you even calling?

Did something happen?

Did you miss me?

Did you even think of me at all?

He didn't ask any of them. Instead, he sat on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor with his back against the door and listened to Yuuri's heavy breathing. Victor's heart was beating oddly in his chest, somewhat joyous, but painful at the same time, and he couldn't figure out why.

"Are you okay?" he finally asked.

There was another long silence, some sounds of shifting and a gasp of discomfort, before Yuuri replied, "No. Not really."

Victor wasn't given a chance to react to it, to submit to the sudden fear and panic that turned his blood cold, because Yuuri then said:

"I just wanted to hear your voice."

And Victor's heart tore apart.

Yuuri was hurt. _Eros_ was hurt. And Yuuri called him, researched his phone number, remembered it, called him when he was at his lowest – hurt and in pain, and seeking comfort in Victor's voice.

And Victor wasn't there with him.

Yuuri must have thought Victor's lack of response was due to hesitation or surprise, because he spoke again, in a much quieter, more hesitant way.

"Talk to me?" Yuuri pleaded. "About anything, I don't care what, just..." His breathing was ragged and it was a cruel punishment to listen to it. "Let me hear you, Victor."

So Victor pulled himself together, despite his aching heart, despite the fear curling in his gut and dread clutching at his throat.

"Have you heard the story of the Little Silver Hoof?" Victor asked in a slightly shaky voice.

Yuuri huffed a breath in laughter. "No."

"Okay," Victor nodded to himself. "So there was this man, Kokovanya, who was a hunter. His wife died before giving him any children, so when a girl from the village was orphaned, he took her and her cat in."

"I'm more of a dog person, really," Yuuri butted in, and it made Victor smile just a little as he remembered the little Vicchan who always greeted him with tiny dog kisses.

"The girl watched over the house when Kokovanya went out to hunt, and then listened to the many stories of the forest and the creatures living there when he came back. One of those stories was about a deer with one magical silver hoof, who could make gems and precious stones pop out of the ground if it stomped on it."

Yuuri was quiet now and Victor assumed he was listening, so he continued.

"The girl wanted to see the Little Silver Hoof very badly so she went into the forest with her cat. They never found the Little Silver Hoof, but a few days after her cat went back into the forest and when she followed him, she saw him playing with a deer who happened to have one magical, silver hoof. The cat seemed to be talking to it for a moment, before the deer stomped his hoof all around the small hut where she lived with the hunter, turning it into a beautiful palace of gemstones. And now comes the important part, are you still with me?"

The other end of the line was silent, almost too silent.

"Yurenka?" Victor asked, fear crawling back into his bones.

He pulled the phone away to check if the call was still connected, and pressed it firmly back against his ear when he saw it was. There were no sounds from the other side, even Yuuri's shallow breathing was gone.

He couldn't have...

Scrambling to his feet, Victor left the bathroom and hurried to his laptop. He never was a good hacker, he preferred the more physical action, but tracking a call from a connected line wasn't difficult. He plugged his phone in and started typing away.

Yuuri couldn't be dead.

Victor didn't know what kind of injury he sustained, but he was guessing it was something around the chest/belly area. Yuuri's pained laughter was proof of that. Victor tried very hard not to think about Yuuri currently bleeding out wherever he was, with a phone that still connected him to Victor clenched tight in his pale fingers.

The software worked with a quiet hum and Victor impatiently counted the seconds before a single location popped up on the screen: Barcelona, Carrer de Mir, 39.

Without a moment's hesitation, Victor was packed and out of the door.

 

 

 

 

"Where is it?" Yuuri asked, pressing the barrel of his gun against one of the goons' head. The rest of the guy's friends were slumped around the backroom Yuuri had sneaked into to wreck havoc and extract information. "Where's the mainframe?"

Loud music from the club that was a cover for the gang's operations came through the door like a low buzz of a dozen beehives. All the screaming and crashing that happened the moment Yuuri stepped foot into here was drowned in it and kept his cover. Now he only needed to get to the mainframe computer, download the data he was here to get and send this little gift straight into Feltsman's hands.

"I don't know what you're talking about," the man grit through his teeth. He spat out blood, wiped his mouth and turned a glare on Yuuri. "And even if I did, I wouldn't tell you."

"I see," Yuuri said, and pulled the trigger.

With the last of his clues dead, he didn't have anyone to pluck information from. He set back one of the chairs that got knocked over in all the commotion and straddled it, facing the door. Someone was bound to come, sooner or later. Hopefully, it'd be someone a little more cooperative, because Yuuri would hate to have gone through all this trouble for nothing.

He grimaced when a pang of fresh pain ran through his side when he crossed his arms over the back of the chair. The wound was stitched and dressed properly, but it still hurt. Maybe he should've done it after he extracted all the information from the gang, but then it would take far longer to get it to Feltsman without Victor's willing assistance.

Yuuri sighed, bored.

All of this for a single assignment was excessive, but Yuuri had to say it was exciting. Plotting, scheming, executing little moves with all the pawns at his disposal which would lead to the downfall of the king. It was something he loved above all else, but this? The waiting part? He hated it.

The clock on the wall ticked seconds by. Yuuri followed the moving hand with his eyes, but after a good half an hour he was ready to call it quits and look for the mainframe all on his lonesome. There was no benefits to waiting, he reasoned. It wasn't guaranteed that whoever showed up would know where it was, and Yuuri didn't have unlimited time to spend there either. The only thing that Desposa's men would need to overwhelm him was numbers – and that he was certain they had. The longer he waited, the worse his chances were to succeed in his plan.

Carefully, Yuuri picked himself up, hid the gun in the side pocket of his jacket and left the room in search of some other way in. That was when his luck ran out, because the moment the door closed behind him, a punch to his gut made him gag and shrivel from the pain in the knife wound that must have reopened from the force of the punch. He lost hold of his gun when his hand on impulse went to cover his injured side and he wasn't even given a chance to catch his breath when another punch, to his cheek this time, sent him to the floor.

Clutching at his stomach to somewhat protect it, Yuuri curled on himself. For that effort, he received a nasty kick right into his forearm and another to his hip. With a gasp, Yuuri fell on his wounded side, pressing it to the floor to keep it safe from even more damage.

Punches and kicks rained down on him, but he took it calmly, grit his teeth and endured. After a moment, it all stopped, and slowly Yuuri lifted his head. He took in the guy that crouched next to him: the club lights behind him made it impossible to see his face, but Yuuri was sure he was someone he could use. A goon that stood above others, yet was still dumb enough that he didn't even think to search Yuuri for weapons.

Honestly, arm dealers. Yuuri wanted to snort.

"You fucking moron," he spat venom instead. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

"Trash that is sniffing where not supposed," the guy replied, accent heavy. "Trash die."

Yuuri smirked when a hand roughly grabbed his hair and pulled him up.

"Go on," he taunted as the guy closed his fist and readied for another punch. "Do it. Desposa will have your head for it, but go on. Don't let me stop you from ruining your boss' business."

That made the goon hesitate and Yuuri's confident calm only gave him more doubt – all according to Yuuri's wishes. The man looked at him for a while, weighing his options, but ultimately decided not to try his luck.

A smart one, Yuuri smirked just as the guy nodded at someone behind Yuuri. Two sets of strong hands pulled him up with little care for his injuries, which had Yuuri grimace when his wounded side was stretched out.

"Bring 'im to jefe," the guy who kicked Yuuri around said to the others. "He'll say if we have more fun with el japonés."

Yuuri licked his lips. _Finally._

 

 

 

 

The hotel room was empty.

Yuuri's clothes were scattered around, equipment still in place, laptop on a sleeper and documents – documents, which no one should ever see – out in the open. But Victor only took one glance around before his heart sunk to his stomach.

Yuuri's abandoned phone was on the bed, but Victor hesitated for just a moment before he stepped up to it. The sheets were bloody, soaked through to the mattress with dry, a few days old blood. Victor ran a trembling hand over the stiff material.

And then he snapped.

Whoever did this to Yuuri was going to pay.

It took him two hours to look through the material Yuuri had gathered. There were many different people involved, faces and names Victor didn't care for. The mission seemed simple enough: kill the leader of the gang.

Whatever it was that brought Eros down, Victor didn't know. What he did know was that he was going to annihilate them. _All of them_.

 

 

 

 

Yuuri had been dragged into an elevator, down a hallway, then another, then through the door, and finally: into the boss' room where through a thick mist from Desposa's cigar he could see the sizable mainframe whirring and blinking with multiple lights like a Christmas tree.

Success, Yuuri thought, suppressing a smile.

He was unceremoniously forced down to his knees before the boss, who only took one glance at him before he turned his eyes onto the men who captured him. They exchanged a few words in Spanish, which Yuuri didn't pay attention to – he was busy figuring out the best way to get what he needed and escape.

There were no windows here, of course. By how long the elevator was going, Yuuri assumed they were underground, which meant his only option was to go up again. First, though, he needed to get the precious data he'd come for.

And, leave here alive. That would be good planning, too.

"So, who the fuck are you?" Desposa finally turned his gaze back at him.

"Mm, I don't really feel like telling you," Yuuri said and watched the man blink in silence.

Desposa ashed off his cigar, took a drag and flicked off the ashes again. He seemed calm for someone who was facing an unknown assailant who'd already killed five of his men. Yuuri could respect that.

What he could not respect was the leer that Desposa aimed at him.

"Have I fucked you before?" Desposa asked.  

Internally, Yuuri cringed. He didn't let it show on his face, though, not even when the goons snickered. Instead of giving into temptation to break jaws and knock out teeth, Yuuri licked his lips with a little smirk playing on his face.

"You wish," Yuuri said in a quite pleasant for the situation voice. He hummed. "Actually, if you let me out of here alive, I wouldn't mind giving you a taste. How about it?" Yuuri cocked his head to the side and with a half-lidded gaze and a lazy smile, he added: "I'm quite good with my tongue, I hear."

"Are you..." Desposa eyed him.

His gaze wasn't hungry, it was calculating. He was surely weighing the risk of fucking a stranger who was capable of killing his men, but by the pleased gleam in his eye when he raked over Yuuri's face and body once again, Yuuri knew that the reward far exceeded the risks. It felt gross on Yuuri's skin, nevertheless, and he had to suppress a shiver of disgust. He wasn't entirely successful, but Desposa took it as he liked: a tremble of excitement, fear or pleasure. Yuuri couldn't care which.

"Alright," Desposa agreed, putting his cigar out in the ashtray. He leaned back comfortably, spread his legs and looked back at Yuuri with an imploring tilt of his chin. "Go on."

"What, _here_? With everyone _watching_?" Yuuri pretended to be scandalized. "Sorry, but I'm not into voyeurism, could you ask your dogs to wait outside? I wouldn't want to get performance anxiety during a blowjob my life depends on."

Desposa snorted.

"A modest whore, that's a first." He did gesture for his men to leave, though. "Stay right outside the door," he ordered, and Yuuri knew that as soon as he came he was planning on killing Yuuri anyway.

Too bad that Yuuri didn't plan on dying. Or sucking his cock.

Still on his knees, Yuuri crawled forward and rested his hands on Desposa's thighs. They were thick, but more with fat than with muscle. The flesh gave way when he put more pressure behind his adventurous thumbs.

Desposa wasn't an ugly man, to be fair. His hair was the colour of honey, swept back to the side. Desposa's eyes were dark, so dark Yuuri couldn't tell what colour they were, and then they closed completely when Yuuri's touch made him relax. The lips that held the cigar only a minute before parted on a sigh.

It could've been an attractive sight, Yuuri knew. He himself might have been tempted, once, a lifetime ago. But a month of looking at Victor Nikiforov when he woke up and when he went to bed, and every time in between, made Yuuri just a little spoiled. After all, no one could hold a handle to Grand Prix' unprecedented beauty. And when that beauty was at your every whim and fancy... it was hard to trade it for someone like Desposa, someone so _ordinary_.

Yuuri rubbed warmth into Desposa's thighs, mindful of the bulge that was beginning to tent the front of the man's pants. With slow fingers, he popped the button and tugged the zipper down. He could very well suck this guy's dick and be done with it, but honestly? His own dick didn't even stir in interest when he pulled out Desposa's fat cock out, so what was the point if he couldn't even enjoy it?

He bowed down and made a move as if to take the tip into his mouth, but in fact he did it to cover his arm with his own chest and slipped his hand into his pocket to pull out his gun. Wasting no time, he pressed it right into Desposa's balls and looked up, tight grip around both: the gun and the dick.

"Now, dearie," Yuuri crooned as Desposa's eyes snapped wide open in a beautiful mixture of shock and fear. "Don't make a noise or I'll shoot you right where it hurts the most. Understood?"

Desposa's eager nod was all Yuuri needed. He smiled gratefully, and whacked the idiot with the butt of his gun.

Desposa crumpled onto the couch like a lifeless doll. Yuuri lifted off his knees, dusting his pants as he went. He wiped the hand he touched Desposa's dick with on his thigh with a little grimace and then, from his other pocket, he produced a tiny hacking device of Phichit's design and a simple flash drive, both of which he plugged up to the mainframe. As the password cracker began its work, Yuuri leaned against the desk, eyeing the door, the couch, and the computer in turn.

It was taking longer than he wanted, so to keep the guys at the door from listening in, Yuuri gave a fake loud moan, and then another and one more. It would be bad if they grew concerned about the eerie silence from the inside while the program was still running.

After five minutes or so, the password was cracked and the drive began to download the data straight from the mainframe. It went faster this time, but still painfully slow as Yuuri pretended to suck and slurp on the invisible dick. He felt ridiculous, to be honest, but it couldn't be helped – he'd pick that over fighting with an injury any day.

Desposa didn't stir during the whole thing, cock still out and half hard. Once the download was complete, Yuuri passed by him on his way to the door with no regrets. As soon as he'd opened the door, the goons outside turned to him. There were only two of them, which means the other one must have left. Perfect, Yuuri grinned, passing by them too.

"Ey, where you going?" one of them asked.

"Home," Yuuri shrugged. "Your boss is still inside, maybe you should check on him. I don't think he had an orgasm this amazing in his entire life, so he might need help."

The men looked at each other, then turned to look into the room and that was all Yuuri needed. His gun was out in a flash and two shots later, two corpses fell to the ground right in the doorway. The noise was loud and Yuuri didn't wait to see if anyone would come to check it out – he ran for it.

Through the corridor, past another, out the door that was at the end. The elevator doors gleamed across the length of the corridor, but when Yuuri took the first step towards it, one of the doors opened again and he came face to face with the guy who knocked him down back in the club.

"Ah, shit," Yuuri breathed.  

He raised his gun again, but the guy's reflexes where top notch. He slapped Yuuri's arm away and the gun clattered to the floor at the same time as a hard, strong shoulder rammed into Yuuri's chest, pushing him against the wall. Yuuri's lungs screamed, but it was nothing compared to the pain that blossomed in his side.

Darkness danced across Yuuri's vision. Even the punch that connected soundly to one of his eyes didn't matter: it all paled in the face of the throbbing warmth spilling over Yuuri's stomach.

A normal person would give up then, but Yuuri's stubbornness won out against the cries of his body. He took another punch to his jaw, one more to his cheek. They both sent him swaying away from the wall and closer to freedom. The next punch had Yuuri spin around with the sheer force of it and Yuuri had to blink through the pain, but he'd used the moment to his advantage and broke free off the wall. With nothing against his back, he avoided the next punch, blocked one more, and then aimed a kick at the guy's knees once he spotted the opening in his guard.

He almost succeeded, too, but the guy was as persistent as Yuuri and kept on standing. Yuuri used the momentum to knee him in the chin, and that was what finally worked. They both stumbled backwards, panting and glaring.

Yuuri spat out blood from the cut on the inside of his cheek. His eye was quickly swelling, hot and pulsing. It was blocking his vision and the contact lens that was still inside began to itch something fierce.

Yuuri needed to go. Now.

His gun was next to the guy's foot, though.

Breathing through the pain, Yuuri lunged for it. He ducked under a punch, landed a chop right into the dip under the guy's ribs and while he lost his breath, Yuuri sent him crumbling with a hit off the heel of his hand right into his chin.

A kick missed Yuuri just as he jumped over to lift his gun, and then it was over. Yuuri twisted on his knee and pulled the trigger while still in motion. The close range of the shoot made the guy stumble back into the wall while blood welled from the wound on his chest. He choked a breath once, twice, three times, gurgling and spilling blood over himself, and finally slumped against the wall. Once his body slid down, leaving a trail of blood that clashed with the deep green paint, Yuuri's shoulders slumped.

He hacked from the very pain of breathing. His side burned. When he pressed his hand to it, he could feel the wet, fresh blood that must have seeped through the layers of bandages and clothes.

"Fuck."

Kneeling on the floor, the elevator doors seemed really, really far away. Yuuri pushed himself up, grit his teeth at the pain and moved forward. He stopped after a few steps, though. As hurt as he was, he could hear the voices closing in on his location and... they were coming from the direction of the lift. He cursed again, turning around to look at the door in the corridor.

He could hide, that would be one way to avoid death for another few minutes. But the corpse sleeping against the wall would be suspicious enough to throw off his cover. He needed to run. With the elevator blocked, Yuuri knew of only one way upwards and with the chaos the underground base was thrown into now, he might be able to make it if he goes _now_.

So he bit his lip against the pain, and he ran.

The yelling behind his back started the moment he passed through the  nearest door and as Yuuri slipped from one door, through the corridor, and right into another, it only became louder. Before he jumped into the next door, closing in on what he was hoping would be the main hallway, Yuuri turned around and shot three of his pursuers.

He missed on the fourth, but it was fine. The man startled and tripped over the falling body of a comrade, cracking his head against the wall. Yuuri shut the door and spun on his heel, ready to slip down into another door–

–and then he saw him.

With hair in disarray, a barely dressed bleeding wound in the thigh, Victor looked like a ghost under the dingy underground lights. A ghost that Yuuri was hallucinating, because there was no possible way Victor Nikiforov would be there in the flesh, no way...

Victor's eyes took him in, bright and beautiful, and Yuuri's heart ached. _What an idiot._

 

 

 

 

The gang's headquarters were in some shady club, which came as no real surprise. It seemed standard practice for organized crime of this level to locate their business behind a tacky front. Victor would be offended on his, and Eros' as it was, behalf... if only he wasn't so pissed.

He shot the two guards at the door after they gave him the stink eye. He really wasn't in the mood, not today, not now.

He slipped inside almost unnoticed. It was a little after the closing hour, so the club was relatively empty except for the people Victor wanted to kill really badly, but the ease with which he made it inside was more than disappointing. It was a joke. Victor briefly wondered how these amateurs managed to capture someone as skilled as Eros, but no matter what he could think of, it didn't add up. Something wasn't right in this entire mess, he could tell. And yet the clues he'd found were enough to make his own worst fears come to light, so just for that these guys deserved a good spanking.

Grinning wolfishly, he stepped out into the open. Muzzled guns in both hands, he shot five of the henchmen at leisurely pace before anyone even thought of shooting back.

"That's more like it," Victor hummed to himself, ducking out of the way when the bullets finally came flying.

The bottles at the bar behind him were bursting one after another, glass raining down on his back and shoulders, but Victor didn't care. He peeked over the counter where he was hiding and shot the two idiots who came out from under the cover of the tables that were thrown up as soon as the goons realised they were under attack.

Slowly, Victor slipped from behind the bar and jumped behind one of the faux-marble pillars. With a trained eye he offed one after another, after another, after–

A stray bullet him in the thigh, and _damn_ , it stung, but Victor stood his ground. He shot the next guy right in the face in a petty show of vengeance.

A few deaths later, it was all over. When Victor moved from behind the pillar, corpses littered the ground like the glass from the broken bottles. He took in the destruction of the club with a satisfied eye and walked straight to the open elevator doors. The panel had only underground levels, so Victor pressed a random button with a finger numb from the gun's recoil. The big metal tin lurched down slowly, but Victor didn't waste time: he changed the magazines, tore a piece of his shirt off and tied it over the bullet wound on his leg to at least keep the blood loss to a minimum. He could feel the bullet with every step and he had to grit his teeth when he put his weight on his right foot, but it was bearable.

The thought of losing Yuuri was not.

No one greeted him when the door pinged open. Again, Victor was disappointed. Did these guys really give his Eros trouble? With each new encounter, it seemed less and less probable. But if they didn't capture Yuuri... _where was he_? Was he even here? If Victor had done all of this for nothing... well. Yuuri would owe him a lot of kisses before Victor could be convinced to forgive him.

He made his way into the corridor. There was only one door at the far end, which meant he could go only one way. So without a care Victor kicked it open, ready to shoot another dozen of people who – possibly, maybe? good enough – hurt his precious Yuuri, but it was just another corridor.

With another door at the far end.

Victor squinted.

Something wasn't right here.

But he did go into the next room, finding yet another door after the corridor lead him right.

It was the next one, however, that got complicated. As if it wasn't enough of a headache already, there were three pairs of doors on each side of this corridor, in addition to the one at the far end.

Victor hesitated. Too many possibilities meant too many chances of picking the wrong door. Too many chances of picking the wrong door meant too many ways of getting lost and never finding Yuuri.

He cursed whoever built the place. He could open the doors one by one and check out whichever appealed to him the most, but that would take too long. And Victor wasn't a patient man. Especially not with the thought of a bleeding Yuuri still lingering at the back of his mind, even though he was fairly sure this was all just one of Eros' games.

Before he could decide which door to go through, the second one on his left flew open and _Yuuri_ stumbled through it, turning back to shoot someone chasing after him.

Like charmed, Victor's breath left him in a whoosh. For a moment he stood frozen, just staring at Yuuri as if he was seeing a ghost, a hallucination, a mirage that his pining heart had brought forth to fool his eyes.

Eros, with the wild, untamed hair all over his face, fierce, angry eyes and mouth set in a thin, displeased line; bruised, battered, bleeding, but alive and _gorgeous_ – Eros was there.

Their eyes met.

Yuuri's mouth opened in surprise.

Victor smiled.

And the door Yuuri burst through was shot full of holes.

Yuuri barely dodged the rain of bullets, stumbling out of the way and falling right into Victor's arms. A little startled, Victor caught him to steady him, but to be perfectly honest, he would've reached for him even if there was no danger to their lives at all.

They didn't have much time, he knew. They should be going, he knew. Their lives depended on it, he knew. But gazing down into Yuuri's eyes, Victor forgot all about it, because the only thing that mattered to him now was right there, locked in his arms.

What remained of the door was already opening and Victor would've stood there, still, enraptured with Yuuri's beauty – it'd only been two weeks since they'd seen each other, but Victor clearly must have forgotten how stunning Yuuri was, even if he was all bruised and bloodied now: he was still the most beautiful man Victor had ever laid his eyes on – if Yuuri's hand didn't clench on the back of his shirt and tugged him right through another door.

It was a simple storage room, much bigger than the one he remembered so vividly from Canada. Yuuri didn't stop to admire. He didn't freeze like Victor had done before, either. He was still moving, still working, and Victor forced himself to snap out of his daze. It wouldn't do for Grand Prix to pull down a fellow hunter among the entire den of enemies.

Yuuri guided them between the aisles of wooden crates to the door hidden behind a big, empty shelf as if he knew it was there. Did he? Victor smiled to himself, because knowing Eros: he did.

"Help me move this," was the first thing Yuuri said to him, but Victor wasn't complaining, even if it was undoubtedly lacking romance.

He was just so happy to see Yuuri again, moving, breathing, alive, that it didn't matter what Yuuri was saying. As long as he was talking, Victor was happy to simply listen to his voice.

They moved the shelf and Yuuri opened the door. They slipped inside at the same time as the door in the room they just left burst open. Victor pressed his back against the second door to keep it shut, while Yuuri stepped away, looking around as if he was searching for something. He must have found it, because then he grabbed one of the chairs and dragged it over to Victor.

"Block the door," Yuuri ordered, leaving Victor to the task.

Only when Victor put a red velvet padded chair – how tacky – up to the handle, blocking it, did he look around for a way out. The room was done in a pseudo rich style, obscurely so. There was a big bed, curtains heavy with satin, a golden chandelier that shone dim light, and a thick, expensive-looking carpet hiding the wooden floorboards.

Victor cringed.

Yuuri was on the other side of the room, tinkering with a panel of what seemed to be a private elevator. It didn't take him long to have it open. Victor had barely crossed the room when the metal doors began to swing open. By the looks of the unharmed panel, Victor guessed that Yuuri must have known the master combination, and he lifted an eyebrow when Yuuri turned to him.

"What? I do my research," Eros smirked at him, and Victor was never more attracted to him than in that moment.

They stepped into the elevator together to the sound of loud banging and gunshots that were coming from the second door to the room. It was only a matter of time until their provisional barricade was torn down, but by that time they would be merrily on their way.

Yuuri punched in the floor number and, on the edges of his patience, Victor waited for the elevator door to close. It did, painfully slow, but once they started moving...

Victor immediately turned to Yuuri, grabbed him by the neck, ignoring the little hiss of pain Yuuri made when Victor's gun knocked against the bruise on his cheek, and pulled Yuuri into a kiss: desperate, pleading, angry. It was everything, all at once, seething in his chest like a fire that couldn't be extinguished by anything other than Yuuri's tongue and lips and breath.

Yuuri melted into it with no complaints, as if he was voicelessly apologizing for putting Victor through this hell and Victor... Victor realized that he was ready to forgive him for anything, as long as he stayed alive. As long as he returned to him and kissed him like this, forever.

His heart thrummed in his chest hard, but he was happy. It hurt, damn it all, it hurt, but it was a good hurt: healing. He pressed the pads of his hands, gun still firmly in his grip, against Yuuri's cheeks and kissed him again, and again, finally pulling back and pressing his forehead against Yuuri's sweaty one.

"You'll be the death of me," he spoke for the first time, voice whiny as all the aches of his body and heart returned to him double-force now that he'd found Yuuri.

"Let's hope not," Yuuri replied, smirking a little, but his eyes shone with relief and something that looked too much like the feeling that was currently flowing through Victor's veins. "I still have a use for you."

Victor choked a laugh into another kiss, only pulling back when the door of the elevator pinged open again. Yuuri inched up on his toes and kissed him one more time, lips curled and taunting.

"Let's get out of here," he said.

Victor couldn't agree more.

 

 


	9. Game

 

 

"So how did that story end?" Yuuri asked while they were dressing their wounds.

They holed up in the room Victor had rented. It was small and cramped, but inconspicuous enough that no one would think to track them there. Victor was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at his thigh with slight disgust – the bullet was still inside and he needed to get it out. He was not looking forward to that, so Yuuri's question came at the most welcome time.

"What story?" he frowned a little, trying to remember.

Yuuri looked horrible. His left eye was swelling fast and the skin already turned sick purple, bloodshot and ugly. His chest and arms were littered with bruises from the countless punches he must have endured and the bandage once tied neatly around his abdomen was now dirty and soaked with blood where the wound must have opened again.

And yet, even with all of that, even with the split lip and swollen face, Yuuri was still the most beautiful person Victor had ever seen.

"The one about the Little Silver Hoof," Yuuri told him as he cut the wrapping on his stomach on the side and slowly pealed it off his skin, hissing when the dried blood ripped the wound apart. "I remember till the moment the cat went back into the forest? I must have passed out after that."

Victor could see the slightly crooked line of stitches around a small cut, a clear point of entry of a knife. That must have been the reason for Yuuri's call the other day, Victor realized. Yuuri was doped on painkillers and stitching himself up. Just the fact that during all that pain Yuuri thought to reach out to him made Victor's chest tighten with growing affection.

"Well," Victor started, smiling a little because he couldn't help it. "The girl went to find the cat, because she was too worried about him being alone to let it go."

Yuuri's one good eye turned on Victor. The whole sentence sounded like a metaphor of their situation and Victor watched how the corner of Yuuri's mouth twitched as if he was suppressing a smile.

"Obviously," Yuuri agreed, cleaning up his wound.

"And when she found him, the cat seemed to be talking to the Little Silver Hoof!" Victor leaned back on his hands.

"Just like that?" Yuuri asked, a little sceptical, but Victor only hummed.

"I think the cat was telling it the story about the good hunter who took in a lonely girl," he said. "And in his endless compassion, the Little Silver Hoof stomped his magical hoof and covered the hunter's whole house in gems to repay him for his good deed."

"If only life was that easy," Yuuri piped in, and Victor inclined his head in agreement.

"So the girl and the hunter took as many gems as they could carry in their pockets and turned in for the night, only to realize all of the other gems disappeared during the night, leaving them with just the ones they brought inside with them. Neither the cat, nor the Little Silver Hoof were seen there again."

When Victor finished, he waited for Yuuri to say something, but he was silent for a while. He finished cleaning up his wound and then came over to kneel before Victor. With a steady hand, he cut off the sides of Victor's pant leg to slowly pull the material off the wound.

"So the morale of the story is, if you want to get rich you need to lose your friends?" Yuuri asked. "Not a nice story to tell to children."

Victor chuckled. "That's one way of looking at it. I prefer the more optimistic interpretation."

"Which is?" Yuuri prompted, and Victor knew he was trying to distract him before he dug his fingers into his flesh to look for the bullet. Victor swallowed harshly, but answered the question.

"If you're kind and compassionate to–" Victor sucked in a sharp breath when Yuuri's fingers pushed into his thigh. The pain almost blinded him, but he kept himself talking through his tightly gritted teeth, "–to others, you will be rewarded. If you're a good person, a kind person to... y-your friends, they will move mountains for you."

"That's a nice theory," Yuuri praised, just as he pulled out his bloody fingers along with the bullet. He lifted his other hand to brush it against Victor's sweaty cheek, smiling. "Good boy, you're all done."

Victor felt a little stupid at the pride that blossomed in his chest at the praise, but Yuuri's one eye was gleaming warmly at him, so he blushed and ducked his head to hide the wide smile that threatened to split his face.

"Can you stitch it up on your own?" Yuuri asked. "I really need a shower, it's been three days..."

Victor huffed a little. "Who do you think I am, Yuuri?"

Yuuri chuckled, standing up and kissing the top of Victor's head in a gesture so caring and loving, Victor whined. It only made Yuuri laugh more. Listening to the beautiful sound Yuuri made as his lungs pumped air into his body and kept him moving, alive, how could Victor be mad about a little bit of teasing?

 

 

 

 

The water was running over his body in a cleansing waterfall and Yuuri just stood there, breathing in slowly. The last days had definitely not gone according to plan that Yuuri had carefully structured before, but somehow, by a lucky twist of fate, everything seemed to have turned out like he wanted. Even if it wasn't through the means Yuuri devised, the end result mattered the most: and that remained what he'd been striving for.

It didn't mean Yuuri was happy, though. His miscalculations might have passed unnoticed this time, but the appearance of things Yuuri hadn't taken into consideration, things he'd missed, was a threat to the grand masterplan that he was dutifully trying to follow. Because, if these little things happened and his smaller plans were thrown off by this single variable, how could Yuuri predict what it would mean for his assignment, if he couldn't predict something as simple as Victor coming to his rescue like the smitten fool Yuuri wanted him to be?

He lathered his body with soap and scrubbed the dirt and blood off his shoulders and chest with a little more force than needed. It was his own fault he didn't see it coming. _He should've_. Seemed like he was just as much of an idiot as Victor was when it came to love. Yuuri gave a soft huff of dry amusement.

His fingers worked without pause until he reached the tender stitches on his abdomen. The wound wasn't serious, nothing vital was hit – he'd know, he'd pushed the knife inside himself after all. That fact didn't make the soap sting any less when he carefully cleaned around the cut, though. It stopped bleeding as much after he changed the stitches, but the flesh was still sensitive and prone to leaking, which had Yuuri shiver every time he prodded a bit too close to it.

He bit his lip, forcing himself to focus on something else.

As if he already had a ledge built into Yuuri's brain – and maybe he did with how often he was on Yuuri's mind – Yuuri's thoughts turned to Victor. Seeing him in Spain, of all places, was more than unexpected. Yuuri didn't necessarily like surprises like this. Just one wrong step could end up with everything he'd worked so hard for, spilled so much blood – his own and the others' – for; all of it could fall apart as easily as a house of cards. He had a chance here unlike anyone else: Grand Prix' guard was down, he was in love: a perfect opportunity that Yuuri had built. If all of this was lost now, the second time wouldn't be this kind to either of them.

The water crashed down onto the back of Yuuri's neck, heavy like the guillotine, when he turned around. His bunched up muscles relaxed under the hot stream and he sighed from brief relief.

Suddenly, he remembered the desperation in Victor's kiss back in the elevator as they were making their escape, and he smiled to himself. He turned the water off and towelled himself lightly, mindful of the bruises. Without looking into the mirror once – he knew his face looked horrible – he pushed the door open to tell Victor he could now use the shower if he wanted, but the hushedly spoken Russian stopped him.

Yuuri quickly closed the door back, leaving only a small slit that he could listen through. Victor was using Russian, obviously reporting back to his handler, because he thought that even if Yuuri overheard him, he wouldn't be able to understand.

Yuuri smirked to himself. Too bad for Victor that when Yuuri was preparing for this mission, he did so _very_ thoroughly.

Which included learning Russian to the point of fluency.

"–not doing it," Victor was saying now, sounding slightly annoyed. "I won't kill Eros."

Yuuri's heart stopped, and then jumpstarted a second later, pumping blood faster through his veins. The wound on his stomach pulsed, a painful reminder of the game he was playing and its risks.

He'd always known Victor was sent to kill him, just like Victor knew Eros was scheming to do him in as well. It was their job, they both knew it. That was also the reason why being with Victor was so thrilling: the exhilaration of the unknown waiting for him, the expectation of the moment when Yuuri finds himself in Victor's trap – it was what gave Yuuri the rush to keep this game going. Even if they might have grown close enough to debate refusing the orders, hearing Victor say it out loud so plainly was...

"I assure you, my mind is perfectly sound," Victor replied to what Yuuri guessed was _Are you fucking crazy?_ "And if you send someone else after him, I will protect him. I will stand in your way, if I must."

 _Oh, Victor_ , Yuuri thought, a sad smile on his lips. That kind of loyalty was touching, he'd be lying if he claimed that his heart wasn't moved by that. If their circumstances were any different Yuuri might have felt the same, even. After all, he was aware of the feelings the other him had for Victor. He'd caught enough of them to know, and enough of them to actually made him grow into a certain level of fondness towards Victor.

But... this was only a game. A game that Yuuri had a perfect plan for, and that plan was now being ruined by one of his pawns acting on his supposed feelings that were a manufactured effect of Yuuri's pretended affection.

Yuuri clenched his fists while he prayed to whatever deity watching over him to stop this bumbling fool from ruining everything he'd spent so long building.

His prayers fell on deaf ears.

Victor huffed at something his handler said.

"Fine. Then I'm done with you, too, Yakov. Bye."

And he hanged up just like that, muttering a few choice curses in Russian.

Yuuri's heart stopped beating inside his chest. His breathing stopped, too. Naturally, he'd assumed that Victor was talking to his handler – that was standard procedure. But the name Victor just used... Yuuri couldn't mistake it for any other.

Victor wasn't talking to his handler. He was talking to his boss, Yakov Felsman. The man that was as important to Yuuri's mission as Victor himself, maybe even more.

Now, though, thanks to Victor's hotheadedness, the entire escapade to Spain had been rendered useless, Yuuri realized. He slid his hand over his face in annoyance. Victor was supposed to be the one Yuuri would give the data for Feltsman, he wasn't supposed to break off from him. And even worse, Victor threatened Feltsman to never send anyone else after Yuuri, which meant all of his easy options for the direct transport of the data were now out of question.

Yuuri cursed Victor's stupid loyalty. The annoyance burned in his throat with a bitter flame. Even when Yuuri tried to swallow it down, it kept coming back, stronger than before. He told himself that it was just a simple inconvenience, that he could still use Victor _for something_ , but in the heat of the moment the anger had won over reason.

Yuuri waited out a minute longer to calm himself at least a bit before he pushed open the bathroom door again. He faked a smile when Victor's eyes flicked to him instantly.

"The shower's free if you want it," Yuuri said.

"Thanks," Victor smiled back, but it was a tight smile that didn't fully reach his eyes.

It was just a game, Yuuri knew. He wanted it that way. It was his idea.

He was still angry when Victor didn't play his part like Yuuri wanted him to. But the moment Victor gave him that sad excuse of a smile, Yuuri's heart tightened even more than it had when he realized his plan was laying in ruin at Victor Nikiforov's feet.

It was ridiculous. This wasn't him, Yuuri tried telling himself. It must have been _his_ feelings that were clouding his own emotions, there was no other explanation.

The door to the bathroom closed behind Victor quietly.

Yuuri's head didn't hurt. His vision didn't swim, didn't blacken. Instead, all the ache was centred in his chest, on the left side – right where his heart was. Even so, Yuuri refused to accept it as his. It couldn't be. It just... _it couldn't_.

 

 

 

 

"You shouldn't have done that," Yuuri said as soon as Victor was out of the bathroom.

Victor blinked. "Done what?"

"I know Russian quite well, Victor." Yuuri's one unswollen eye looked at him seriously. A little angrily maybe. Victor couldn't tell exactly. "You shouldn't have said all of that."

Victor only shrugged. He walked over to his suitcase and pulled out a set of fresh clothes for himself and another one for Yuuri. He offered them in an outstretched hand, but Yuuri refused to take them. He just stood there, his arms folded across his chest, one eye glaring. Waiting.

Yup, definitely angry, Victor decided.

Then, he sighed.

"Look," he started. "Yakov's family. He won't hurt me."

"And you're certain of that because...?" Yuuri pressed.

"I just am," Victor said, throwing Yuuri's clothes onto the other bed and putting on his own. "You have to trust me on this."

"Trust you," Yuuri repeated as if it was a completely alien prospect to him and... Victor's heart froze for a moment.

Because it was. Trust was not something that existed in their line of work. And he should've known that.

Instead, he babbled it out like it was something normal. Like he expected it without saying. Like he'd extended it to Yuuri as well just because they slept together and shared a little vacation time in a cosy port town, which... Victor only realized now that he had.

He truly was a fool.

"Yakov is like a father to me," Victor explained, turning his eyes to Yuuri. "I'm like a son to him. He's probably angry with me right now, so it's a good idea to lay low for a while, but we'll be fine. He won't do anything that would land me in danger I couldn't get out of. "

Victor expected the tension to leave Yuuri's body. He expected the anger to melt into agreement, into relief, anything, really. Instead, Yuuri seemed to be even more angry than before.

"And you think I won't?" Yuuri hissed, and it wasn't Yuuri Victor was looking at anymore. In fact, now that he thought about it, it never was Yuuri to begin with. He was face to face with Eros: angry, lethal, dangerous. "You deluded yourself into thinking that just because we fucked and spend a couple of lazy days together I won't kill you? That I will drop everything for you? Defy my orders for you? I never believed you to be that stupid, Grand Prix, so please don't disappoint me further."

Victor's heart stopped.

No. It couldn't be.

It couldn't be all just a ploy to make him fall, to cut him off from Yakov, to leave him stranded, alone, trusting in the one person who he shouldn't have trusted from the beginning – the person that would end up being his killer at his lowest and most miserable...

"Did I?" Victor asked quietly. "Delude myself? Was this all just an elaborate plot to deprive me of allies, stand me and then kill me when I'm alone and helpless?"

He swallowed when there was no reply and Yuuri only continued looking at him, cold, untouchable. Eros, Victor had to remind himself, this was Eros. But still, Eros was Yuuri and the face he wore was the same as the one Victor knew would never hurt him.

Through a clogged throat, Victor repeated:

"Tell me, Yuuri. Was it? Did you... play me?"

He wanted to reach out to him, feel his pulse and find it hitch, but he stood rooted in place. Even when Yuuri's shoulders dropped and he moved to take the clothes off Victor's bed. He dressed quietly and Victor waited, because whatever words would fall from Yuuri's mouth next would undeniably be the truth that could either make or break them. And some irrational fear at the back of Victor's head was telling him it was the latter.

Victor's shirt was too big on Yuuri, but Yuuri didn't seem to mind. He buttoned it up proper and rolled up the sleeves before he finally looked back at Victor. And then he quickly looked away, jaw set in stone.

"I'm going to fetch my stuff from my place," Yuuri said. "I just... I need to think. And so do you. We'll talk once we're both calmer, because I don't think I can stand to look at you right now without wanting to put a bullet in your face."

Victor watched him go, with a heavy, throbbing heart and a head full of doubts, hoping that when Yuuri came back it would be his Yuuri, and not Eros ready to kill him. Though, even that he would embrace with open arms, he knew.

Whatever Yuuri wanted to give him, he would gladly take. Victor gave a humourless laugh as he collapsed onto the bed.

What a fool he was, indeed.

 

 

 

 

Mostly everything remained untouched in the small room Yuuri had rented for himself almost a week ago. He quickly made it over to the desk and put on his glasses. He'd had to throw out his contacts after his clumsy attempts to take out the one from his swollen eye ended up damaging the lens. Going around half blind had been a pain, so now that he was finally seeing properly, he could go through the data that took more than enough trouble to get as it was.

He checked his laptop for any signs of tampering, but the only thing he'd found was that someone had looked through the information he'd gathered about Desposa and his business. It must have been Victor, Yuuri thought as he plugged in the flashdrive.

Just thinking about Victor made him scowl. Yuuri didn't put all of the blame for the situation they'd found themselves in on Victor. Half of it was his own lack of forethought. He should've foreseen that Victor would be stupid enough to become a gallant knight that would want to protect Yuuri, even if Yuuri didn't really need it. He should've known this would happen. He sighed, exasperated. This entire mess was of his own doing, and his own failure to judge Victor's character.

So now, he'd have to reap what he'd sown.

He opened up the drive and began to look through all the contract data: countless of figures that were both cash and arms amounts, delivery locations that spread all over the world, and finally to what he wanted the most the list of names that could only be the employers. Yuuri scrolled through page after page, looking for that one thing he knew Felstman would die to know. It was no secret that the underworld of Russia and China were in a constant struggle against each other, which gave business to any and all arm dealers. If only Yuuri's hunch was right...

Two hours later, he sat back with a satisfied smile.

There. He'd found it. The route for the next shipment to Shanghai. It was scheduled for next month so if he could get it to Feltsman, he could get in his good graces. And with his guard down, he'd be able to take away that which Feltsman cherished the most and complete his mission.

The end was near.

Yuuri copied that piece of information onto a separate drive and pocketed that first. Then, he packed up the file and send it straight to Phichit. He wasted no time in dialling his friend's number, but the call went to voicemail after a few long beeps. If Phichit was too busy to pick up his phone, there was no need to interrupt him. He'll definitely call back once he sees the notification, Yuuri was sure, so he left his phone on the small desk and went around the room, packing.

Once that was done, he sat back in the desk chair. He'd been avoiding thinking of Victor this whole time, but he couldn't do it any longer. There were a few ways he could deal with this, but none of them was satisfying.

He could tell Victor the truth, but that would make them enemies again.

He could lie, and pretend to love him, but that would still make him unable to accomplish his mission.

He could let _him_ deal with it and blindfold Victor for a while longer, but that would mean relinquishing control and Yuuri couldn't afford it now when the plan was in its most crucial stage.

Finally, he could give Victor some truth, cover up the rest by simply never mentioning it, and leave him to think what he would, but... Victor was unpredictable. This entire excursion should be proof enough. Yuuri couldn't predict what Victor would think, what he would do, so leaving him to his own devices was too much of a risk. There would be less danger in one of the previous options, but...

Yuuri sighed. It sucked. Everything about this sucked.

Before he could decide what to do in the end, his phone rang. He picked it up. If anyone would know what the best course of action was it would be Phichit, but since Yuuri couldn't really give him details of the operation–

"Say," Yuuri started without even giving a greeting. "You planned a date with a perfect setting, food and music already prepaid and waiting at a restaurant the friend of your boyfriend owns. You want to get laid tonight, so it's important that everything goes well and the mood is there. Everything's ready and you wait to pick up your boyfriend, but when you do he tells you that he argued with said friend who owns a restaurant, so you can't possibly go there if you still want to get some. What do you do?"

Phichit snorted the moment Yuuri ended.

"Is this hypothetical, or are we at the stage where we give each other relationship advice?" he teased.

"Shut up," Yuuri groaned.

It was already embarrassing enough having to put down his dilemma into something as simple as that. But well, truth be told, if he didn't find a way out of this situation, he wouldn't be getting laid for real.  At least that part of his problem was real.

It didn't make Yuuri feel any better, though.

"Just help me figure it out, I'm at a loss."     

"Okay, okay," Phichit agreed. "First of all, just tell him what you planned. It might not get him into your bed, but at least he'd know that you were planning a surprise for him, so that's gotta count for something, right?" Yuuri hummed. "And then take him out somewhere else. Buy him ice cream. Cotton candy. Anything sweet that you two could share. Get a mood going. And smooch him if you can, that could help too."

"What if he doesn't want to be smooched? What if he's still upset?" Yuuri asks.

"Then you need to do your best to cheer him up. At least, that is, if you want to get laid."

Yuuri was the one who snorted this time. "So your tactic is to dangle a sweet bait in front of him to make him forget about what happened?"

"You got a better one?" Phichit challenged. "If you did, you wouldn't be calling me."

"You're right, you're right," Yuuri sighed. He closed his eyes, thinking about all the trouble it will be to explain everything to Victor, when suddenly he remembered. "Oh! I sent you some files, by the way. Show them to Celestino, maybe he'll find a use for them."

There was a second of silence on Phichit's end, filled only with the soft tapping of the keyboard keys.

"Got them," Phichit confirmed. "What is all of this? Aren't you supposed to be home and resting?"

Yuuri bit back a smile. "I'm done resting. This was just a warm up before I get back."

"Looks a bit more than a warm up," Phichit said in a voice that clearly spoke of how little he believed Yuuri. "Did you make it out okay?"

Yuuri thought of his destroyed face and bruised body. He grimaced.

"More or less," he said. Phichit only sighed. "I'm fine, honestly."

"Let that boy of yours lick your wounds," Phichit told him.

Yuuri's lips twitched. "That's unsanitary, ew."

Phichit's laughter worked wonders for Yuuri's bitterness and once they finished the call, beginnings of a plan were already forming in Yuuri's head.

A new one. A better one.

This time, completely flawless and Victor Nikiforov-proof.

 

 

 

 

It was three hours later when Yuuri returned to Victor's room. The sun was already dipping behind the horizon, bathing the world in flames. Yuuri pushed his suitcase against the wall and put the messenger bag that must have contained his laptop on top of it. It was quiet in the room, deathly so, and for a second Victor thought that Yuuri might just walk out again, and this time for good.

Frozen in fear of what was to come, Victor hadn't moved from his spot since Yuuri had left.

Yuuri's steps were quiet as he came over and sat down next to Victor, but to Victor's ears they sounded like gunshots. His heart was bleeding, but it was still beating: loud enough that he could hear it without effort. Victor scrunched his eyes shut and waited for Yuuri to speak, since he wasn't really able to force out words past his clenched throat.

Yuuri's clothes were warm from the last remnants of the heat of the day. Victor caught his own body betraying him as it unconsciously leaned closer to that warmth and he pulled away with a wince. Yuuri never changed into his own clothes, Victor noticed.

A painful spring of hope awoke in his chest, which he squashed like a bug. It wasn't the time for that. It didn't matter that Yuuri was still wearing the baggy clothes Victor had lent him. It didn't mean anything.

Not unless Yuuri said so.

"I did," Yuuri finally spoke up. "I played you."

Victor knew. And it _hurt_.

"It was all just a game, ever since we met in Boston," Yuuri kept talking and Victor knew it was Eros now, not Yuuri.

He'd always known that Eros was a player, that he was a seducer. But still, he so foolishly believed that maybe this time was different, that there was something special between them. And there was, he couldn't relinquish that thought – there had to be. After all, he met Yuuri: a weakness that Eros wouldn't have allowed him to see and live to tell the tale if Victor wasn't someone he thought different from all others.

Wasn't it true? Was that all just another scheme? Was... _Was Yuuri even real?_

He forced himself not to think of Yuuri at all. Fabrication or not, it only hurt more to remember Yuuri's sweet smiles, kind words, gentle touch...

"I wasn't expecting you to find me first, that came as a surprise," Yuuri admitted. "I wasn't quite ready then." Victor's hands clenched into fists in his lap. "I don't think I was ever ready to begin with. I don't think even now I'm ready. You... Victor, you're so much more than I imagined."

It made him flinch, like a punch to a bruise. Victor bit his lip to hold back a whimper. He didn't want to be weak in front of Eros, even if his heart was bleeding. If he showed weakness now, Eros was the kind of person who would use it to his own advantage. Since all of this was only a game to him, Victor couldn't doubt that Eros was capable of killing him all along – now more than ever.

But... but if he had even a shred of Yuuri in him, could Victor maybe use this chance to see if any of the times they shared meant anything to him, to them? Maybe, just maybe, this tiniest possibility was Victor's way in.

"It was supposed to be a quick kill," Yuuri said. "But look at us. How many times did I have a clean shot and just... didn't take it?"

Many. Too many for it to be a coincidence.

Victor lifted his head and finally looked at Yuuri again. He couldn't see Yuuri's eyes, because the swelling on the side of his face was in the way, but there was a wistful smile on those lips that Victor still remembered the taste of with vivid clarity.

He swallowed harshly.

"Why didn't you?" Victor asked in a raspy voice.

"My heart wasn't in it," Eros replied quietly.

It sounded like a confession. It sounded like something the coolheaded killer with no scruples would never admit to, and yet... Eros had done so.

Victor's mouth parted in surprise.

Eros' heart wasn't set on killing him... his heart... did he mean _Yuuri_? Was Yuuri the holder of his conscience, the bearer of his guilt and the keeper of his sanity? Was Yuuri the one Victor owed his life to? Or was Eros' harsh nature mellowing out simply because Yuuri loved Victor? Did... could it be that those feelings transferred back to Eros as well...?

Eros and Yuuri: they were two sides of the same coin. What one felt must have reflected on the other as well, there couldn't be mistaking it. Yuuri, who loved Victor, and Eros, who wanted to kill him – they couldn't be separated, and thus Eros' wish couldn't be fulfilled. He wouldn't be able to kill Victor, because Yuuri would do everything to stop him. But would Eros interfere with Yuuri just to spite him? Was killing Victor important enough for that?

"Do you still want to kill me?" Victor forced the words out, watching the face he loved with his whole soul.

He loved Yuuri, that much was true. But Eros was... he was a part of Yuuri, too, even if he was a dark part that Yuuri feared. They were one. And Victor knew that he could love him just as much as he loved Yuuri, if only Eros let him.

Please, he thought, please let me love you.

Eros turned his face to him, a small, sour smile on his face.

"I never wanted to kill you to begin with, Victor," he said, and all Victor heard was _yes_.

For a single moment, Victor's heartbeat was deafening as the blood buzzed in his veins in pure shock, and as his breath left his lungs in a strangled, dry sob, his body moved before his brain caught up with the fact that he was moving in the first place. Victor flung himself on Yuuri, pushing him back onto the bed and clinging to him with all his might. By accident, he bumped his elbow into Yuuri's stomach, right into his knife wound. Equally by accident, Yuuri kneed him in the thigh, right where a fresh bandage covered Victor's bullet wound.

They both groaned in pain. And then they both laughed, like the idiots they were.

Victor was half draped over Yuuri, resting his head on his shoulder and slinging his bad leg over Yuuri's hips while Yuuri's arms held him close around his waist. It was warm and comfortable, and even though his heart hurt and they still needed to talk about many, many things, it was easy to close his eyes and just focus on here and now.

"What are we going to do now?" Eros asked after a while.

"We?" Victor asked, touched that _Eros_ was already considering them an item.

"Don't be an ass," Eros replied, pinching Victor's side. Victor yelped and jumped in his arms, but Yuuri only pulled him into his chest again. Victor pouted, but settled back in. "I can't send you back to Feltsman when you've already told him you won't be coming back, can I? And leaving you alone will be more pain than it's worth, so you might as well tag along."

"That's... that's really sweet of you. Thank you," Victor replied softly. He lifted his head to look up at Yuuri. "What do you want to do then?" 

Yuuri hummed, turning his head to the side to return the look. His hand brushed through Victor's hair, gentle, comforting, so unlike Eros that Victor blinked. But it had to be. It– it had to be Eros, now, right?

"What do _you_ want to do?" Eros asked. "I've made you chase me around the world for a while, I think it's your turn to pick where we go, hmm?"

Such simple words, such a simple gesture, but it warmed Victor's body from the tips of his ears to the pads of his toes. The fact that it was Eros who said it made it even sweeter, and all of Victor's hurt melted away for the moment.

"I don't mind going wherever you go," he said, heartfelt.

Feeling lighter than before, he lifted his head and gave Yuuri his best lost puppy expression that always worked on everyone. Except Yakov. Sadly. He was still working on it, though.

"So just take me in?"

Yuuri's one good eye glinted with amusement, but instead of laughing, he sighed dramatically.

"If you pee on the carpet, I'm kicking you out," he said, tone serious, but Victor knew him enough to know he was kidding. Or, at least he hoped so.

Victor gasped in pretended shock. " _Excuse you_ , I've been potty trained."

Eros laughed at that, rolling over a little to hide his grin in Victor's shoulder, and then groaned when the fresh stitches pulled at his abdomen muscles. Victor chuckled, too, and patted him on the arm where it was safe to touch without risking pain again.

They weren't okay, not yet. But they would be. He was sure of that.

 

 


	10. Smooth

 

 

Working with Yuuri was _so much fun_. It was the most Victor laughed and grinned on a job, honestly. One of the reasons was, of course, Yuuri's presence. But there was so much more than Victor simply couldn't get enough of.

Quizzing each other about the target over pizza. Laughing about the weird things they found out, trying to one up each other about the most obscure piece of information in their arsenal. Sharing one cup of coffee on a stakeout, sitting in the dark, arms and thighs pressed together. Whispering bad pick up lines, jokes, and other ridiculous things into the comms while the other was out in the field just to mess up their concentration. Surprisingly, Yuuri was more immune to it than Victor, even if he later got increasingly more flustered.

Victor fondly remembered that one time when he started moaning into the small mic, making Yuuri miss his first shot. Yuuri definitely wasn't pleased about having to take another, and when he returned, he fucked Victor right into the mattress, hard enough that Victor had trouble walking the next day, but even then he didn't learn his lesson.

Not that Yuuri minded. His eyes twinkled with amusement and laughter, and Victor just knew he was as happy as he himself felt.

It was freeing. Exhilarating. Empowering.

After the growing boredom and routine of the past few years, Victor rediscovered the joy of the job that was impressed on him when he was still young and naive. The thrill, the rush in his blood, the addictive feeling of power when he made a kill. It made him feel like he hadn't felt in so long that he forgot that he could even feel this way: young, bright, _alive_.

And then, after the mark was hit, they went sightseeing to broaden Yuuri's collection of stamps and to get a matching mug for Victor's shelf back in his St. Petersburg home. Like a normal couple, like tourists, like they didn't just share grins on the height of the hitman pleasure.

 

 

 

 

"Oh, I know!"

Victor's voice startled Yuuri as soon as he lied down in the hotel bed and closed his eyes with a sigh. His nose twitched when Victor crawled over, eager and bright awake eyes just centimetres from Yuuri's own.

"Can we talk about it in the morning?" Yuuri asked, yawning.

He didn't even bother covering it: he just yawned right in Victor's face. Victor pouted at him, but didn't say more. He simply leaned in and kissed the tip of Yuuri's nose, his forehead, his one cheek that wasn't pressed to the pillow and then his lips. He moved to do it all over again, but Yuuri groaned and pushed him away with a semi-limp arm.

"Come on, you goof. Sleep."

"My Yuuri is such a cold and cruel master," Victor sniffed, but turned off the nightstand lamp and settled into bed without any more prompting.

Yuuri turned over and Victor's arm wrapped around him in a familiar way, light and comforting, but secure. Yuuri breathed in a deep sigh. He hadn't known how working with Victor would look like, yet so far he didn't have much to complain about. And on top of everything... being with someone, falling asleep with someone, and waking in the same bed, warm and cared for – it felt better than he could ever express in words.

Victor's cheek was pressed between Yuuri's shoulder blades as if he was trying to hide behind him. It was cute, it was vulnerable. With a little smile on his face, Yuuri gave into sleep.

I want to protect that, was his last thought, which he didn't remember when he woke up in the morning, snuggled against Victor's side.

They must have shifted during the night, because Victor was on his back, one arm above his head, and Yuuri's own was splayed over Victor's bare chest. This was nice, too.

"'morning," Victor mumbled in Yuuri's hair, curling around him like a lazy cat.

Yuuri did nothing to dissuade him. "Mm, morning."

They stayed like that, dozing for a while longer, and sharing heat. Despite how bright Victor always was, how lively he seemed to be at every hour of the day, in the mornings he was as sleepy as anyone else. Yuuri appreciated it a lot, because he was fairly sure that his mulish brain wouldn't be able to handle Nikiforov-level of enthusiasm this early in the day.

"So, what I wanted to tell you yesterday–"

Victor started, but Yuuri piped in with:

"–you mean today, it was well after midnight–"

"–semantics, Yurenka." Victor kissed his brow and Yuuri hushed down to let him speak. "Anyway, I have a friend in Zurich that we can visit, so how about we take a short vacation in the snowy Alps? Doesn't that sound nice?"

Yuuri snorted a little. "You're already on vacation. What do you need a break from?"

"It's not a break I need," Victor told him, warmth in his voice. "I just want some time to spoil you. Maybe charm your other side as much as you've charmed all of me?"

Yuuri couldn't hide the smirk that broke out onto his lips.

"Fine," he agreed, nestling his face into Victor's shoulder. "Call your friend. Let's go to Zurich."

The squeal Victor gave was something undignified and completely unexpected from a man that killed people for a living, but Yuuri's heart loved it.

 

 

 

 

With Yuuri sitting between his legs, wrapped securely inside Victor's arms, Victor imagined they were just a normal couple. Just a normal couple that went to work in the mornings and kissed goodbye at the door, only to come back home to eat dinner together and cuddle on the couch to watch some stupid reality show that was currently popular. Just a normal couple that didn't kill people, that didn't play with danger. Just a normal couple.

They were anything _but_.

Yuuri's fingers were busy moulding a clump of C-4 to fit the wires needed to install the tiny detonator into it and Victor watched in silence, chin pressed into Yuuri's shoulder.

"I'm bored," he whined after a while, draping himself over Yuuri's shoulders and making him hunch under the weight.

"Then find something useful to do," Yuuri told him, painstakingly working on the bomb.

Victor pouted, but a second later his pout morphed into a smirk. "I could do _you_."

He kissed the side of Yuuri's neck, taking immense delight in the shiver that wrecked Yuuri's body. He could feel him shift in his arms. Victor's grin widened. He let his hand slip under Yuuri's t-shirt, riding up and up, slowly caressing the beautiful muscles which twitched under his touch.

"Vitya, I'm busy," Yuuri said, but it was a weak complaint. So Victor ignored it.

He bit into Yuuri's neck lightly, licking at the delicious flesh. And that was all it took for Yuuri to cave in. He leaned back into Victor and turned his head further to the side to bare his throat, and moaned: a quiet, muffled sound coming from between his pursed lips.

The wired C-4 was knocked down to the floor as both of them, for just a while, forgot about the mission, the world, everything outside of the embrace of the other's arms. In the end, Victor thought as he kissed Yuuri's naked shoulder while Yuuri recovered, they were just a normal couple.

A normal couple _with a kick_.

 

 

 

 

Victor stayed outside, talking to someone on the phone in hushed French, so Yuuri left him there. He was too tired to stand around in the corridor for more than it was necessary to open the door to their hotel room. The key card clicked and Yuuri went inside, already pulling off his hoodie.

He cracked his neck, groaning quietly and cursing Victor and his libido. The position they had sex in earlier that day was a little uncomfortable, but only now Yuuri could clearly feel all the kinks in his muscles coming out to bite him in the ass. Literally.

Victor owed him a massage, Yuuri decided, smiling to himself. He was pretty sure Victor wouldn't mind. It was a free chance to put his hands on Yuuri and that, more than anything, would convince him to comply. Though, Yuuri suspected a simple request would do, too. Victor loved being useful and Yuuri loved using him, so it really was a win-win relationship they had going, above everything else.

Yuuri was about to take off his t-shirt too, when he heard it: the whistle of wind, a soft rustle of the curtains, nothing more. Yuuri's shoulders tensed.

They didn't leave any windows open, he knew that for a fact. He'd checked. And Victor had _double checked_ after him.

Yuuri breathed in, casually coming back to where he left his hoodie. There was no one in the room as far as he could see, but just a glance confirmed that the window was left slightly ajar. The room was on the sixth floor, which could only mean one thing.

Someone did get inside. Someone who didn't wish either of them well.

Yuuri cursed himself for not checking the bathroom before he passed it on his way inside. He didn't need to hear the door open, he didn't need to hear the footsteps; and he didn't. But he did see the shadow of the tiny figure coming up behind him. Before he could be caught off guard, Yuuri's body moved.

Ducking automatically, he kicked out with his foot, catching the guy – it was a guy – in the stomach. He hacked, curling on himself, but he didn't lose the hold on his gun. Surprisingly, he had enough training to dodge Yuuri's next kick. He twisted around Yuuri, digging his elbow right into his spine. It pushed Yuuri down to his knees with a grunt as pain briefly flashed behind his eyelids.

Ignoring it as best as he could, he barrel-rolled and climbed to his feet on pure instinct alone. The mouth of a gun was trained on him in a second, but Yuuri was faster. He already caught the hand and pulled hard. The guy, small, seemingly frail, lost his balance and run straight into a full elbow punch Yuuri aimed at his chin. This time the gun slipped out of his fingers as he stumbled back.

Shaking his head to rid himself of the slight dizziness, the guy plucked a knife out of the holder on his thigh and Yuuri prepared to pair a stab. He knocked the incoming hand out of the air with a hard punch to the other's forearm, but another fist caught him in the gut. Breath left him in a wheeze, but Yuuri didn't have time to wallow on it. The knife was coming back and he closed his hand around the blade without much thought.

A move like that often paralyzed the holder of the weapon, making them drop it, or simply stop moving, but the kid only sneered and pulled the blade out, cutting Yuuri's hand open like it was butter. He might have looked young, but Yuuri realized he was a born hitman alright.

Eyes narrowed and hand bleeding, they stood facing each other for a moment. And then Yuuri jumped.

Off to the side, towards his hoodie, where his gun was tucked inside the front pocket. He knocked into the table and the crash of the vase that slipped off the top was loud between the buzz of blood in his ears and the speeding heartbeat in his chest. He pulled out his gun, hearing the clattering of the blade behind him and when he twisted around, still crouching on the ground, the kid had his own gun in hand – pointing straight at Yuuri.

Not bad, Yuuri thought.

The door of the room flew open, but neither of them looked away.

"Yura, stop!"

Victor's voice was loud and slightly upset as he crossed the room to stand between them. Yuuri scowled. And he could've bet the kid on the other side was scowling, too.

"I take it you know each other," Yuuri said, standing up. He kept his gun trained on Victor's back.

Victor turned his head around, smiling a little. "He's my protégé."

"Like hell I am!" came the harsh complaint in a thick Russian accent. "I'm not your anything!"

"He's just shy like that," Victor explained, despite the ugly string of Russian from behind him.

Yuuri sighed, clicking the safety back on. He stepped from around Victor, throwing the kid a curious look.

"Tea?" he asked. The teen nodded.

"Cream and sugar," he barked, holstering his own gun.

Yuuri then looked at Victor. "You heard him."

"Wha–" Victor blinked at him, bewildered, and Yuuri lifted his bleeding hand to wave at him. "Yurenka, your hand! Oh my god, let me see!"

Yuuri hid his hand behind his back before Victor could grab it. "Just go make us tea, Vitya. I'll wrap it up myself."

Victor pouted, but went to the small coffee table to turn on the electric kettle. Yuuri shot one more look at the blond kid, who glared at him with unhidden hatred, and smirked, if only to make the teen hiss in anger.

He didn't miss the murderous eyes watching him go as he slipped into the bathroom to wash the blood off his hand before he could patch it up.

The kid was Russian. Victor's protégé. Yuuri closed the bathroom door behind himself firmly. Did the little blond have access to Feltsman? If he knew where to find Victor, if he knew Yuuri was with him, surely he had to have at least some level of clearance. Maybe he could be of use to Yuuri then...

He ran his hand under cold water, washing off the blood. The cuts weren't deep, thankfully. With one hand Yuuri reached into the cupboard under the sink and pulled out a standard first aid kit every hotel room had. He sanitised his palm, wrapped a clean bandage around it, and that was that.

He'd already allowed Victor a moment alone with the kid, so now that he was done with his hand, he stopped by the door to listen in on the conversation in case he might learn something useful. When after a minute all he heard were insults to himself and then to Victor, he scowled and pushed the door open.

No matter how useful the brat might be, he was still a brat.   

 

 

 

 

Little Fairy's inside voice was basically the same as his outside voice and Victor would bet anything that Yuuri could hear every word from all the way in the bathroom with ease. Not that Victor had anything to hide from him at this point.

The water in the kettle was boiling slowly, but Yuri seemed to have no patience to wait and talk over tea. He blew up in Victor's face as soon as the bathroom door closed after Yuuri.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Victor?" he started. "Yakov is going mental about your ungrateful ass and you're here, holed up in some hovel with that–" Yuri's face tightened with disgust. "– _that pig_ , who killed so many of ours, and you're what? Playing maid? Don't fucking joke with me!"

"What do you want me to say, Yuri?" Victor shrugged. "I'm happy with him."

"Happy," Yuri spat, lip curled. " _Happy_? You're happy that you're _serving tea_ on _his_ order? Where is your fucking _dignity_? Where is the Grand Prix I know?" He stomped his foot on the floor in anger. "Just kill that walking disgrace and let's return home."

Victor sighed. He knew Yakov would send someone to him despite his warning, but he didn't expect it to be Yuri. He was still a child, how could he ever begin to understand what Victor felt for Yuuri, _for Eros_? Even to him the feelings were far too complicated, but to Yuri, whose emotions ranged from huffy angry to outraged guns blazing, the feelings of love were as alien as they were to Victor before he'd met Eros.

Well, maybe that wasn't exactly correct. After all, Victor had his fair taste of romance before, but the point still stood: while Victor knew very little, Yuri knew nothing of love.

The kettle whistled, which gave Victor a couple more seconds to answer.

"Look, Yura," Victor started, pouring the water over the teabags. "I don't expect you to understand this, but he's good for me." There was a snort from behind his back, and Victor smiled. "He is. You're upset that he took me away from the team, but... he didn't. I left myself. It was my own choice."

He turned around, holding out the cup with cream-and-sugared tea to Yuri, who took it, even though his face was still marred with an ugly scowl.

Yuuri chose that moment to come out of the bathroom and he looked at Victor, searching for something, so Victor only smiled to tell him everything was fine. Yuuri nodded.

"How's your hand?" Victor asked, walking over before he could stop himself.

"I'll live," Yuuri said noncommittally and Victor pouted, a complaint ready on his tongue.

It died when Yuuri took the mug out of his hand and, holding it in both of his, took a sip and then sighed as the warm liquid flushed down his throat. He looked tired and tense, and all Victor wanted in that moment was to gather him into his arms and help him relax.

"So, why is he here?" Yuuri asked then, glancing at Yuri. "I didn't catch your name. Was it Yura?"

"Yuri," Yuri grumbled. "It's Yuri."

"Ah," Yuuri's lips twitched as if to smile. He shot Victor an amused glance. "How interesting."

Victor caught onto the allusion and also smiled. "So, why exactly are you here, Yura? Did Yasha sent you with a message?"

Yuri snorted, slowly sipping his tea. "He doesn't know I'm here. I gave him the slip, because I needed to see for myself how low you've fallen."

Victor hummed. Yakov definitely wasn't pleased. First Victor, now Yuri... he must be ripping his hair out, or what was left of it. The mental image would've been funny, if the situation wasn't quite serious.

"And it's worse than I expected." Yuri glared. "You'd be crawling at this jerk's feet if he asked, how disappointing. The mighty Grand Prix is dead, long live the slut that made him his whore."

"Yura!" Victor snapped at the crude language.

"A slut, am I?" Yuuri's voice was deceptively quiet.

Victor felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. Yuuri's eyes gleamed with cold amusement that made Victor worry for little Yuri's wellbeing. Eros was in every inch of Yuuri's face and he took in the teen, who visibly bristled at the mocking gaze that slid up and down his frame. Victor prayed that Yuri doesn't escalate the situation further. It already looked bad enough when he stepped into the room, but praying seemed to be useless – Yura would do as Yura would do.

And the same went for Eros, who only gave a little hum of disappointment after his once over.

"Listen here, you fucker," Yuri grit his teeth, pointing a finger at Eros. "You aren't worthy a minute of his time. Just because he wants to put his dick inside you doesn't mean–"

"Yura, that's enough!" Victor caught him by the arm, but Yuri ripped it away just as fast and just as angrily.

The cup that was knocked out of his hand in the scuffle crashed on the ground, making a still steaming wet patch on the room's carpet.

"Fine," Yuri spat. "Do whatever the hell you want. I'm leaving so I don't have to look at you fucking grovelling before this dipshit for a second longer. You're dead to me."

And then he stomped to the door and left, banging it shut in petty revenge.

Victor only sighed. It's been a long day. He didn't have any strength left to deal with angry teenage drama. Because that's all it was, he knew. It wasn't the first time he'd heard those words from Yuri, and it probably wasn't the last either.

"I'm sorry about–" he began saying, but Yuuri cut him off.

"Clean that up, please?" he asked, pointing at the broken cup with his chin. "I'll be right back. Need to tell the little brat something."

Victor watched him go after Yuri and he briefly wondered if he should follow. Was the world going to end? Probably not. Were they going to kill each other? He sure hoped not, but he knew better than that. He just didn't want either of them hurt too badly, but... at least he trusted Yuuri to stop Eros from going too far.

Because he would, right...?

Victor sighed again, kneeling down to pick up the broken pieces of the ceramic off the worn hotel carpet.

 

 

 

 

Anger simmered softly under Yuuri's skin as he hunted the blond down the corridor. A slut, huh... He might have been, willingly leading Victor into his bed, but that didn't mean he wanted a teenager to call him out on that. Not to mention calling Victor his whore... Kids these days. Such crude language, so little respect for their elders and betters.

Yuuri caught the sight of little Yuri and he quickened his steps, sneaking up to him as quietly as he could.

Catching the teen by his nape, Yuuri pushed him face first into the wall. The hands that fumbled to push him off, he locked in a tight grip behind Yuri's back and when the teen stopped trashing, Yuuri leaned in to whisper right into his ear.

"I don't appreciate you threatening us like this," he said, voice cold. "Victor might not say anything, he might be used to you running your bratty mouth, but... newsflash, I'm not Victor."

"The fuck you want, you creep?" Yuri barked. "Lemme go!"

He bucked against Yuuri's hold, but Yuuri was bigger. Stronger. More experienced. And _it showed_.

"There's two things I want from you," he told the blond. "First, don't ever come between me and Victor again. Next time, I will not hesitate to shoot you."

"Same here, asswipe," Yuri seethed. "You're alive right now only because Victor stopped me."

Yuuri smiled indulgently. Sure, let the kid think that. Let him underestimate him. He won't even know what hit him.

"And second," Yuuri continued as if he didn't hear him. "You'll take something to Feltsman for me."

"Like hell I will," Yuri growled and this time when he struggled against Yuuri, Yuuri let him break lose. "I'm not your fucking messenger. Give it to him yourself."

"I can't," Yuuri explained. "He still wants me dead. And he's still mad at Victor. This will change his mind."

He threw a small flash drive straight at Yuri, who caught it reflexively.

And then scowled.

And scowled even more.

"What's on it?" he asked.

Yuuri smirked. "Ask Feltsman. Maybe he'll let you see if you're important enough."

Yuri's face twisted in a foul grimace of anger again and he spat a heated "I hate you," in Yuuri's direction, before turning and disappearing down the corridor.

Yuuri went the other way. He came into their room just as Victor dumped the broken cup into the trash.

"Everything okay?" Victor asked, concern in his blue eyes, but Yuuri smiled because he knew the question really meant _'Is he still alive?'_.

He came over, snuggling into Victor, whose arms wound around him in a protective embrace. Yuuri nuzzled his cheek into Victor's shoulder.

"We'll be just fine," he said.

Finally, _finally_ , the remaining pieces were falling into place.

 

 

 

 

They boarded the plane to Zurich the next day.

They didn't speak of Yuri, didn't speak much at all. In silence they cuddled up close and breathed each other in until their heartbeats aligned and sleep claimed them once again. In the morning, neither was willing to start a conversation about the little demon that visited them, so just like that he was all but forgotten. Instead, Victor chattered happily at Yuuri about his friend, Christophe Giacometti, the youngest of the banking barons and the heir to Giacometti Group, who run the most influential bank in Europe.

Yuuri knew of him, like Victor had been expecting from the start, but he'd never had the pleasure of meeting him face to face. Now, after a seven hour flight, it was about to change and frankly, Victor could hardly wait.

"We've been friends ever since I was tasked with the assassination of his aunt who was embezzling money from the Group," Victor was whispering in Yuuri's ear. "We went out for drinks while I was getting to know her and we just clicked, you know? Chris is so much fun, you'll see! He's a little touchy, though, so don't let your eros run with it or I'll be jealous."

Yuuri gave him a little smirk. "I'm quite curious how jealousy looks on the great Grand Prix."

Victor pouted at that.

"Yurenka, you're so cruel to me," he said. "Don't I show you my love at every turn? Why must you test me so?"

Yuuri's chuckle got drowned in the sound of the captain announcing that they were preparing for descent. He gave Victor a sweet peck on the pouty lips, and another when the first one didn't work. Against himself, Victor could feel his face brighten up: there was no way he could resist Yuuri's charms.

"Don't worry," Yuuri told him. "I can only give my affections to one pretty head at a time."

"Did you just call me pretty?" All previous upset gone, Victor grinned. "Aw, I think you're very pretty, too, my Yuuri!"

"Oh, hush, you," Yuuri waved a dismissive hand at him.

He buckled himself up and leaned back in his seat, a faint flush on his cheeks. Victor once again couldn't help himself. Yuuri was just too pretty. He truly was. And so, Victor pressed a kiss against Yuuri's cheek and when Yuuri's head rolled to the side, he pressed another to his lips. Yuuri allowed it and even kissed him back, but before Victor could indulge in a deeper kiss like he wanted to, Yuuri pulled back.

"Your belt," he said.

A little unhappy, Victor sat back and buckled up as well. Yuuri's hand found his soon. Their fingers twined together like they belonged nowhere else and a feeling of peace settled in Victor's chest.

It was strange, Victor thought, how far they'd come since that day in Boston when he got drugged, tied to a chair and gagged with his own pillowcase. They were enemies, before they were anything else, but now playful bickering was all that was left from those days. It's been a year, almost, and instead of anger and death threats, they switched to shared kisses and smiles. How that even happened, Victor had no idea, but he was glad for it nonetheless – it gave him a reason to move forward, a will to fight against the monotony that had sneaked into his life unnoticed.

"Thank you," he whispered, squeezing Yuuri's hand.

Yuuri looked at him in question, but Victor only smiled and shook his head.

The plane landed without delay and they clambered out of the long sleeve into a bright Swiss morning. Without going through baggage claim they were soon out of the airport. Victor immediately honed in on Chris' personal chauffeur and pulled Yuuri that way.

The best surprise waited for them inside the limo, though.

"I never thought I'd see Victor Nikiforov take a romantic getaway with anyone," Christophe Giacometti said as soon as Matthiew, the driver, closed the doors behind Victor and Yuuri. "And yet, here we all are."

"Chris!" Victor grinned. "It's so good to see you! How have you been?"

"Bored as all hell," Chris gave an exaggerated sigh. "Without you here to keep me company it can get pretty lonely. But now you seem to have not only brought yourself, but also a cute guest. I'm ready for double fun." He grinned and winked at Yuuri. "Now, introduce us, you uncultured swine, where are your manners?"

Victor sniffed.

"I know your kind of fun and the only thing that will be keeping you company this time around will be your own hand."

With a gleam in his eye, Victor watched how Yuuri had to bite back a smile at his comeback and the feeling of accomplishment in his chest grew into pride. Victor gestured to Yuuri, grinning sharply.

"This is my Yuuri," he said. "And he will eat you for breakfast if you try anything."

"Oh?" Yuuri asked. "Will I, really?"

"Yes, you will," Victor replied, leaning over to whisper in Yuuri's ear: "Unless you want me to fuck you hard and keep you on the edge of release for hours on end the next time I get my hands on you."

Yuuri's head tilted towards him, eyes dark with challenge.

"Was that supposed to deter me?" he asked, and Victor smirked because he expected it.

"I don't know," he replied, "was it?"

And he pulled back, waving a hand at Chris.

"This is Christophe Giacometti, the one I've told you about," he introduced. "He prefers to go by Chris, though."

Yuuri nodded at Chris, but his eyes were still running off to the side to look at Victor and Victor couldn't help feeling smug. It made Chris laugh, a happy chuckle that made Victor even prouder of what he and Yuuri had.

"I see you two are made of the same mold, huh?" Chris finally said. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Yuuri."

"Likewise," Yuuri said, turning his gaze at Chris at last. "It's a pleasure, Chris."

Victor's heart burned.

 

 

 

 

When Celestino opened his email next morning, his eye immediately caught on the one with an encoded return address.

_Mission progression: smooth._

That was all it said and he shook his head and went to brew his coffee. Seemed like it'll be another uneventful day.

He could honestly get used to that.

 

 


	11. Promise

 

 

Yuuri had no fear of darkness. It always came for him no matter what, so even if what he felt wasn't fear or surprise, he found himself a little reluctant to give into it. A bit like falling asleep after a busy day where his mind was spinning and threading and constantly haywire, his consciousness laboriously swam away into blissful nothingness until the next time he'd blink his eyes open.

But not this time.

"You," Yuuri said, looking at the mirror of himself.

"Me," the other him confirmed. "And you. Us."

"How–?" Yuuri started, but he didn't know the right words to continue. He didn't need to, though. He was talking to himself, so obviously the other him knew what he wanted to ask even if Yuuri didn't put it into words.

"I wanted to talk to you," he said. "About Vitya."

"What about him?" Yuuri asked. His eyes narrowed. If this was what he thought it was–

"I love him," the other him stated plainly.

"I know," Yuuri replied.

"I don't want him to die."

"I know," Yuuri repeated himself.

"You want to kill him."

There was no anger, no despair in the voice. It was said matter-of-factly enough that it gave Yuuri pause.

"I know that, too," Yuuri said, finally. "And you know it as well. You're me, after all."

The other him nodded and pushed his glasses up with a finger.

"You've always saved me from the things I couldn't handle," he said slowly. "It was easier for me to give in to you when I knew that I didn't want to be a part of what you were doing. What had to be done."

"Then why do you continue to fight me?" Yuuri asked, clicking his tongue. "You've been grappling for control for months. Why is this so much different from the other things I've done? Just let me take care of this, like I always do. You don't have to think about it, even. I'll take over completely until it's done and we can go back to our lives like nothing happened."

The other Yuuri shook his head.

"I can't," he said. "I love him, don't you see? You... do you really feel nothing for him? After all this time?"

Yuuri frowned.

No, he wanted to say, I don't feel anything.

But before he could do that, the other him smiled at him in a way that made the hair on Yuuri's nape rise.

"You can't lie to me," he said. "I'm you, after all."

He repeated Yuuri's own words right at him, which had Yuuri scowl.

"It doesn't change a thing," Yuuri said. "I have to kill him." Then, he corrected himself: "I will kill him."

"You could," the other him agreed. "But I'm asking you not to. The assignment... I–I can help. If you'll let me."

Yuuri's eyebrows lifted high in surprise.

"You want to help? You've never, not even once, agreed to lift a finger before and _now_ you want to help?" he asked, incredulous.

"Not actively, no," the other him replied. "I can't do that. But I can come up with a plan. Something that will keep all of us safe and– and will let us be together, because I–" he paused and looked at Yuuri with big, determined eyes, " _I_ want that."

For him, this coward was willing to go that far, Yuuri thought. For Victor. _Vitya._

"So, please, let me do this," the other Yuuri asked, holding Yuuri's gaze like he had nothing to lose, nothing to fear, and a whole world to gain.

Yuuri turned away first.

"I will still move forward with my plan," he said, shoulders held straight. "But if you manage to find a way out, if I think that it's actually doable..."

He didn't finish, but just as before: he didn't need to.

The light snared him back then and Yuuri blinked open his eyes. The ceiling of the guest bedroom in Chris' mansion was the same as when Yuuri fell asleep. Victor was breathing softly on the pillow next to Yuuri's, deep asleep and content. Nothing has changed.

Yuuri turned to the side to watch him for a while, but sleep had taken him in its arms again before he knew it.

Maybe this was for the best, he thought as he drifted off. And in his heart he couldn't find a single thread of regret.

 

 

 

 

Kissing Yuuri early in the morning was one of the best parts of waking up, Victor had long since decided. His lips ran over the soft, pliant flesh and Yuuri opened up to him like a clam: slowly, little by little, and then all at once. He pulled Victor in, wrestled the control out of his hands and rolled Victor onto his back to wreck him until Victor was dizzy, hard and panting.

Victor loved it.

And he loved, too, when sleepy Yuuri nuzzled his cheek against Victor's face, rubbed their noses together gently and butted his head against him like a domesticated kitty searching for affection. It was sweet, it was adorable, it was something Victor wanted to wake up to every day for the rest of his life.

"You need to shave," Yuuri mumbled, voice thick with sleep. "My lips itch."

That... that was _not_ what Victor wanted to wake up to every day for the rest of his life.

He pouted when Yuuri rolled off of him with a sigh.

"Oh, come on," Victor whined. "Isn't facial hair supposed to be hot?"

"Mm, maybe. But not when it's rubbing all over me," Yuuri told his pillow, nuzzling into it instead of Victor which was the biggest crime he'd committed as far as Victor was concerned.

Yuuri drifted off into sleep just like that and Victor was left pouting at the ceiling. He preferred his face to be clean-shaven as well, but in the mornings it just couldn't be helped. Yuuri clearly understood that, since it was a problem that touched him as well. The only exception was that the stubble on Yuuri's face was more of a dark yet soft peach fuzz, not the coarse needle forest that overtook Victor's face overnight.

Still, his Yuuri could be so cruel to him, Victor wept in his solitude.

And then decided to be a little cruel in return.

Later, once they both were more awake, Victor passed on using the stunningly luxurious bathroom in Chris' guest room and took his shaving kit right to the bedroom where Yuuri was working on his laptop. He pulled up a chair to the big, floor-to-ceiling window right next their king sized bed, pretending not to notice how Yuuri watched his every move with barely hidden curiosity.

It was all part of a plan. A masterful ploy at seduction that Victor knew was working as soon as he set down his shaving kit and a small mirror on the windowsill. He unzipped the kit and took out the travel-sized can of shaving cream.

"What are you doing?" Yuuri asked, looking up from the laptop screen.

"Isn't it obvious? I'm shaving." Victor replied.

He squeezed some cream onto his palm, rubbed his hands together and covered the sides of his face, chin and a bit of his neck in it. In the reflection in the mirror, he could see how Yuuri's lips twitched as if he was trying really hard to withhold laughter.

"I can see that," Yuuri said, his amusement clear in his voice. "But why here?"

"There's better light here," Victor said.

They both knew it was a bold faced lie and yet, Yuuri played along. He hummed as if what Victor was saying made sense and returned back to work. Or at least, he wanted it to seem like it, but Victor right away noticed the glances Yuuri was throwing at him while Victor readied the straight razor he preferred to use over the disposable ones.

Victor stropped the blade against the leather sharpening belt he'd had slung over his shoulder and the silver metal glinted in the morning sun with every move of Victor's wrist. He made sure to position it just so that every sun spot caught Yuuri's eye – and they did.

Victor couldn't hide his satisfied grin when Yuuri snapped his laptop shut, all pretence of working gone. Victor only got to slide the blade across his cheek once before Yuuri was on him: he took the razor out of Victor's hand, climbed into Victor's lap and grabbed a fistful of Victor's hair to pull his head back for a better access to his face. With the sharp blade in hand, Yuuri's eyes glimmered with something dark and exciting, something uniquely _Eros_ , and it convinced Victor that he made the right choice to use it as a powermove.

"Keep still," Yuuri told him and licked his lips.

The blade stroked Victor's skin softly, guided by Yuuri's steady hand. There was something thrilling in having an armed Yuuri so close to his throat. Victor lived for it, that little brush against death that could come at any time, yet didn't – because Yuuri loved him and even when he'd been ordered to, he'd refused to kill him. It made Victor's blood sing.

The weight of Yuuri in his lap, shifting slightly with every stroke of the blade, only made it better.

"You're so good at this, love," Victor praised while Yuuri wiped off the excess shaving cream on a spare towel.

"I've always been a natural with blades," Yuuri replied with a smirk. "Glad you can appreciate it."

Victor lifted his hands to Yuuri's hips and pulled him closer, sliding him right over the slight bulge in his pants. The expression on Yuuri's face shifted into something darker, more exquisite, and Victor moved his hands to cup Yuuri's ass.

"Am I sufficiently appreciative?" he asked with a sly smile.

Yuuri ground down onto him and pushed Victor's chin up with a light touch to the underside. He leaned in close, lips ghosting over Victor's in a light kiss, as he breathed:

"I don't know, are you?"

The blade scraped across Victor's jaw, a tight, close shave that made him suppress a shiver. He forced himself not to move when the razor was touching his face, but the heat of Yuuri's body right over his crotch was driving him insane. The thrill of the danger and Eros' closeness was building up into a delicious arousal in Victor's veins, so potent he was beginning to shift his hands and caress the perfect mounds of Yuuri's ass through his pants. Yuuri's little appreciative gasps when Victor's fingers dipped between them were a delightful reward that only spurred Victor on. Yuuri's control of the blade was impressive, and Victor did his best to try to break it – it made his veins light up with fire, just thinking of how the blade could cut him if he pressed his palm hard to Yuuri's stiffening cock.

All his dreams crushed down when Victor's dick throbbed hard in his pants and Victor's hips twitched on an impulse, which jostled Yuuri a little in his lap. Everything would be fine, if Yuuri's hand wasn't guiding the blade against the column of Victor's throat right at that very moment. The pinprick of pain was all Victor felt before–

"Shit," Yuuri cursed.

He scrambled for the towel and pressed it hard against Victor's throat, almost choking him in the process. Victor couldn't help his laugh once he sucked in another breath after the first one was knocked out of him in surprise.

"Didn't you say you were a natural at this?" Victor asked, eyes twinkling at the stormy look on Yuuri's face.

"Oh, I am," Yuuri replied. "A natural born hitman, couldn't you tell how much I wanted to slit your throat?"

He smirked, cocking his head to the side and tapping the back of the now speckled with blood blade against his cheek. It only served to make Victor laugh more, and by the slight twitching of Yuuri's lips Victor knew he was holding back laughter, too.

"Now don't move," Yuuri said. "We need to stop the bleeding."

"Aw, so you didn't want to kill me," Victor chirped. "I'm so touched, darling."

"I can still change my mind," Yuuri reminded him as he pulled off the towel to check on the cut. "I guess, you'll live this time, oh mighty Grand Prix."

"You're so generous, my– mmph!"

Victor wasn't allowed to finish, because Yuuri pressed the dirty towel against his mouth. Yuuri wiped off the remnants of shaving cream from Victor's face while Victor was spluttering against such treatment. Once done, Yuuri threw the towel onto the windowsill and then rested his arms around Victor's neck.

"You were saying?" He lifted his eyebrow, but the grin on his lips ruined the look.

Victor only chuckled.

"I wasn't saying anything," Victor gave in with a little shake of his head. "But now that I have you in my lap, I think I might want to use my mouth for better purposes. How about it?"

Yuuri's face mirrored the smirk on Victor's, and he leaned down to look into Victor's eyes.

"I might be convinced to give you a try," he said, and that's all Victor needed to pick him up, throw him onto the bed and ravish him as he'd wanted to ever since the morning.   

 

 

 

 

A few leisurely days of hiking the Alps, touring Zurich, and kissing around like teenagers later, Victor's phone woke them both in the early hours of the morning. Yuuri groaned, pushing at Victor's face to _wake up and make it stop_ , but Victor was already sitting up, so Yuuri's hand landed limply on his empty pillow with a small puff, making Victor laugh at him. Not that Yuuri cared. It was too early.

Even if his professional ear was already highly alert and ready to eavesdrop on the conversation.

"Hello?"

Yuuri curled on himself, sighing softly into his pillow. Victor didn't move from bed, and he could hear a string of Russian coming from his phone, but it was too quiet to make out words. Victor's surprise was clear, though.

"Really?" he asked, a pleased lilt at the end. He gave a few short confirmations, before he said: "We'll be there."

And he hanged up.

"What did you do?" he asked Yuuri then, in English, sliding back onto his pillow to look Yuuri in the face.

"Mm?" Yuuri blinked his eyes open, yawning. "What?"

"That was Yakov," Victor explained, a tiny quirk to his lips. "He said he's taking the Eros mission off the table and he wants to meet you. In person."

"Wow," Yuuri said. Feltsman must have really liked the present Yuuri had sent him through little Yuri.

"So what did you do?" Victor asked again. "I know you did something, don't even deny it. Was it back then when you went after Yura?"

Yuuri chuckled quietly. The more time passed the better he began to understand Victor and what motivated him, but it seemed to be working both ways. Victor had come to know Yuuri quite as well. Which potentially might create some problems in the future, as far as Yuuri's plans were concerned, but... Yuuri couldn't bring himself to care enough at the moment.

"Not telling," Yuuri smirked. "My lips are sealed shut."

"Oh, really?" Victor teased, rising up onto his elbow and leaning over Yuuri. "Because I think I know a perfect way to crack them open."

"Do you?" Yuuri challenged, and watched how Victor smirked at him and slowly slid down under the covers.

When his sleeping pants were pulled down and the heavenly heat of Victor's mouth wrapped around his cock, Yuuri gasped, his head thrown back and mouth wide open on a hearty moan.

_Damn, he really did._

 

 

 

The flight to Moscow was long and draining, but Yuuri napped against his shoulder and Victor didn't know the time was even passing as he stared down into his lovely face. He thought about the beginnings, how they'd met, how Yuuri had taken his whole world by storm. The chemistry was undeniable since the first meeting, but with time Victor had come to see that Eros wasn't all he wanted, that Yuuri, the one hidden beneath the mask of the prolific killer was the reason for Victor's happiness. But he wasn't the only one.

Because as much as Victor loved Yuuri, Eros was a different kind of beast: just as lovely, but also far more lethal. The danger, the chase, the adventure; it all called out to Victor as much as the possibility of settling down with Yuuri's warm embrace and tender smiles.

It took him a while, but Victor finally made peace with what his heart truly wanted and it was both: the good with the bad, the white and the dark, the ying and yang... Yuuri and Eros – together.

Even now the realization made the breath tremble in Victor's lungs. But when it did, he just gathered Yuuri closer, received a curious glance, a small smile, or a tiny kiss to his jaw, and it was all good.

 _He_ was all good.

Yuuri stirred when the plane started descending more harshly in preparation for landing, grimacing at the way his eardrums popped. Victor kissed the high bone of his cheek, and Yuuri pulled at his jacket to keep him in place for a moment longer while he nuzzled into the crook of Victor's neck with a soft whine. Warmth and soft adoration blossomed in Victor's chest as he chuckled, running a hand through Yuuri's messy hair to try to pat down the cowlicks that stood in all directions at the back of his head.

"We'll be there soon," Victor said, unable to keep the happy notes from his voice and not even caring about it as he would've before meeting Yuuri. "We have the thing with Yakov at four, so we still have a few hours to beat. Do you want to go sightseeing? I could take you to my favourite places!"

There was a smile on Yuuri's lips when he pulled back to sit properly in his seat.

"I've been to Moscow a few times, so I've seen most of the popular tourist spots," he said, taking Victor's hand that rested on the armrest between them and locking their fingers together. "But I'd love to see the places special to you." His thumb rubbed over Victor's knuckles, and Victor's heart soared, delighted. "Like, your favourite restaurant? Your favourite park? Favourite bakery? And, of course, most importantly, your favourite bar." The smile turned into a smirk when Yuuri tilted his head to look at Victor. "We need to get shitfaced drunk together _at least_ once. I'm pretty sure there's a rule about that somewhere in the hitmen dating code."

Victor laughed. "What have you done with my Yurenka? From what I remember you refused to as much as look at any type of alcohol the past few months."

Yuuri only shrugged.

"That was different," he argued. "We were on the run, on a _mission_. One of us should always be clearheaded at times like that."

"Oh, don't give me that," Victor grinned. "I remember one mission where you and I both enjoyed our fair share of drinks. Does London ring a bell?"

Yuuri chuckled at Victor's jab. "I was trying to seduce you, it was all part of the plan."

"Aww," Victor pouted for a moment, but then he grinned again. "I admit to being seduced, though. Who wouldn't be, faced with your beauty?"

He brought their joined hands up and kissed Yuuri's knuckles, watching with twinkling eyes as Yuuri's cheeks coloured. He was stunning. And Victor felt giddy inside that this man was choosing to be with him of his own volition. Despite his orders, despite his mission, he was choosing to be with Victor...  

The mood between them changed into something more solemn, so Victor quickly shook it off.

He hummed as if deep in thought.

"Your collection of stamps might have helped with that, too," he added.

Yuuri laughed at that, a lovely sound that felt like a caress directly across Victor's heart. So he squeezed Yuuri's fingers, and Yuuri squeezed back, meeting him right over the armrests for a quick brush of smiling lips.

 

 

 

 

Victor was like a child once they stepped out of the airport. They only stopped to leave their bags at the small apartment Victor was renting out year round for emergencies, before Victor took Yuuri by the hand and lead him out into the streets of Moscow. He was grinning excitedly and showing Yuuri everything, from the tiny uneven stone in the pavement "Careful, don't trip! Though, of course, I'd catch you, so if you want to fall right into my arms, be my guest, Yurenka!" to a park they passed somewhere on the way "We'll go there later. There's so many beautiful swans willing to eat straight off your hand, it's adorable!" and Yuuri was starting to think this might not exactly have been his best idea.

But Victor was babbling, talking a mile a minute, and even though Yuuri had trouble following all of what he was saying, Victor's wide, bright smile was unlike any Yuuri had seen before. He was radiant, oozing joy, and Yuuri didn't want to stop it.

So he let himself be dragged around the hand across Moscow: helpless and charmed silly.

He tasted the freshly baked raspberry bun that Victor pressed a piece of against his lips, licking the sweet jam off Victor's fingers. Victor's cheeks flushed as deep as the colour of raspberries, and Yuuri counted that as a win when Victor's eyes stayed glued to his mouth until Yuuri had finished his bun completely and then was kissed breathless by a very appreciative and eager pair of lips.

He fed the swans, or rather – he tried to. With Victor at his side telling him to stay still and not make any sudden moves, Yuuri offered a piece of bread on an open palm. But the swan must have felt he was nervous because a moment later Yuuri was yelping and jumping back when the animal snapped its beak right where his hand used to be. Victor laughed at him so hard he almost toppled to the ground and Yuuri glared at him until he knelt before him and begged for forgiveness, promising to get him new stamps to his collection as an apology.

He got the stamps alright. Victor was a man of his word and even went as far as to pay for them, which Yuuri reciprocated by refusing to let him pay for the new mug. Victor cradled the small ugly thing to his chest the rest of the trip, with the most ridiculous of soft smiles, and Yuuri's chest grew tight whenever he looked at him.

He dined in one of Victor's favourite restaurants, eating Victor's favourite food and listening to Victor ramble away, and a deep thought settled slowly in Yuuri's head: the whole day, not even once, did he think of his mission, of the moment he'd have to pull the trigger again; he just enjoyed himself in Victor's company and... he didn't want this to stop.

If Victor had noticed Yuuri grow quieter the closer it got to the time of their meeting with Yakov, he either ignored it, or shrugged it off to nerves. Yuuri was glad he didn't press. It was one of the things he liked a lot about Victor – he never intruded when it was important, but he always met Yuuri wherever he was, no questions asked, no demands made. It was probably that, that made Yuuri so comfortable around him. Comfortable enough to let his guard down, to trust, to lo–

"We're here!" Victor announced happily, breaking Yuuri's train of thought.

He startled, twitching a little. The cab they took had, indeed, come to a stop before a building, which architecture-wise clearly screamed Eastern Europe. Yuuri had seen a lot of those around throughout the day, so it was nothing special to see it again now.

In fact, the building didn't stand out from the rest on the same street. A perfect cover for whatever was going on inside.

They climbed out of the cab, Victor paid the driver, and finally they entered the building.

Only to have a dozen guns point straight at them.

Yuuri sighed. And then he straightened his back.

_There we go._

 

 

 

 

Yakov was not amused.

Victor could see the wrinkles on his forehead and the deep crease between his eyebrows, which was never a good omen. There were guns still pointed at his and Yuuri's heads when they sat down in the chairs before Yakov's desk.

This wasn't the welcome Victor had expected. He pouted.

"How rude," he complained. "Here I am, after months of not seeing you guys and this is how you greet me?"

Yakov's eye twitched.

"You," he said, training his hard gaze on Victor. "Shut up."

Victor pouted even more and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked away like a petulant child that has just been scolded. So what if he was sulking? He expected at least a hug, maybe some screaming of the "Where were you, you bastard?! Do you have any idea how worried we were?!" kind, not guns pointed in his face _by his own friends_. Where was justice?

Yuuri was sitting in the chair next to him, seemingly relaxed and at ease. It was no longer the gentle Yuuri, it was Eros that twined his fingers together and casually leaned back in the chair. Without even looking, Victor knew Eros cocked his head to the side as he watched Yakov with burning curiosity in his eyes. Victor had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from grinning.

"I want to talk to the boy alone," Yakov finally said. "Leave us."

"But Yakov–"

"It's fine," Yakov interrupted. "Stay by the door in case anything happens."

Unhappily, Victor heard Georgi shuffle out of the room. Mila patted Victor's shoulder with a small grin and a warm "It's good to have you back," before she left as well. Yakov's eyes then turned to him.

"You too, Vitya," he said and Victor blinked.

"What? No."

Yakov's mouth pursed in a tight line. But Victor wasn't going to budge on this. He was not leaving Yuuri–

"Hey," Yuuri called, shifting in his chair to rest a hand on Victor's forearm. "I'll be just fine, don't worry."

Victor wasn't convinced at all. It must have showed, because Yuuri smirked, his eyes narrowed.

"Or is it that you're not worried about me, but about your boss?"

Victor snorted. "There's like a dozen cameras in this place, the guys outside would be on you before you can sneeze."

Yuuri's smirk sharpened. "Is that a challenge?"

Victor only huffed a laugh. He stood up, looking at Yakov once, and then back at Yuuri.

"Fine, I'll go."

As soon as the door closed behind him, Victor had to repeat in his mind over and over again that Yuuri was Eros and Eros was skilled, Eros was good, Eros wouldn't die in a room with one old man. Even if said old man was the head of the most sought after European hitman organization.

 

 

 

 

"You trained him well, I'll give you that," was the first thing Feltsman said after Victor had left. "He's like a muzzled dog on a leash, something I couldn't accomplish in all those years."

They measured each other with their eyes for a while, before Feltsman rounded the desk and sat back down in his chair. Yuuri remained seated, simply watching him.

"Is that all you have to say?" he asked.

He expected Feltsman to jump into the conversation about the flash drive Yuuri had delivered him, but he was wrong. It seemed that the bond between Feltsman and Victor was far deeper than he gave it credit, if Victor was the first thing on Feltsman's mind.

Yuuri smirked to himself. It was a useful piece of information.

"The data you brought to my attention has been useful, I admit," Feltsman said, not really happy about it. "It saved us a lot of trouble in China."

Yuuri inclined his head. "Happy to be of service."

Feltsman eyed him with distrust.

"I pulled back the hunt for your head, so with that you can consider us equal. Leave Moscow, and Vitya, and you'll be free."

_Ah._

Yuuri felt the cold smile creep onto his face.

"I'm afraid I cannot accept that," he said. "You see, I went to a lot of trouble to get the data that was so – how did you put it – _useful_ to you. I'm afraid I can't accept anything less useful to me in return. Your permission to leave is not exactly what I want, or need, if I decide to leave anyway. I think you can do better than that."

"What do you want then?" Feltsman asked, wary.

"How about I tell you a story first?" Yuuri smiled.

He stood up, folding his hands behind his back as he started leisurely walking back and forth before Feltsman's desk. His eyes darted around the room, checking out every nook and cranny for any abnormalities. Twelve hidden cameras, Victor said?

"Almost a year ago, I got a mission from my handler," Yuuri started. "And no, I will not be telling you who that is, don't ask." Feltsman didn't, which made the corner of Yuuri's lips lift. Good. "So I got this mission, and at first sight it looked impossible, but then when I did a bit of research I found out that there was a single weak spot in my mark's rather powerful defences. Can you guess what it was?"

Feltsman was silent as he processed Yuuri's words, and Yuuri watched, enthralled, as the man worked out his cryptic clues with practiced level-headedness. His eyes were hard when he looked at Yuuri again.

"Vitya."

"Correct," Yuuri agreed with a brilliant smile. "He talks about you a lot, _Yasha_. I almost feel like I know you personally. Weird, isn't it?"

Feltsman's face was tight with anger at the bold use of the familiar diminutive, but Yuuri waved a hand at him, continuing to talk.

"So you see, my mission was, or rather still is, to kill you," he explained calmly. "And Victor was my means of getting to you. Quite a brilliant scheme, if I may say so myself, but also quite a risky one. So many things could've went wrong, you know?" He shook his head briefly. "I'm glad they didn't. Because now we can talk like this, face to face."

He stopped before Feltsman's desk and leaned over it right into the man's face. Yuuri's hands rested between the documents on the desk. The letter opener was close enough he could touch it with his pinkie, and Yuuri cocked his head to the side, smiling.

"I could kill you now," he said conversationally.

Feltsman snorted. "You could try."

"Ah," Yuuri nodded, not surprised by the reaction at all. "You think I wouldn't succeed. Maybe. Or maybe your men would find your corpse here and the window busted open from where I'd have escaped without a trace left for them to track and extract revenge."

Feltsman simply looked at him, not intimidated in the least, which made Yuuri respect him just a little more.

"There's only one way to find out."

But Yuuri shook his head and took a step back. "I'm not going to kill you. Victor is fond of you, and I've found myself quite attached to him. And killing you would mean losing him, so you see how we've found ourselves in quite a pickle here."

"I don't see anything of concern to me," Feltsman lifted and eyebrow at him.

"Mm, pity," Yuuri turned his back at him, walking over to the bookshelf and looking at the titles in Russian. Behind one of them he spotted a camera and winked at it, making sure his lips were hidden when he spoke next. "Say, what do you think Victor would do if my employer – the one who had me hunt _you_ down – would decide to place a prize on my head? Do you think he'd stay here? Or would he come with me?" He turned around, smirking. "Possibly dying in the process as well?"

If he interpreted their relationship correctly, Feltsman and Victor were as close as father and son. There was no way Feltsman would willingly put Victor in the face of danger if he could do something to stop it. Or at least Yuuri hoped so. From what little he knew of them, it was certainly possible.

When Feltsman continued being quiet, Yuuri opened his mouth again.

"Of course," he said, "you can just agree to die here and now, and I'll find some way to explain it to Victor. I don't have a preference."

"Does he know you're like this?" Feltsman finally asked.

"Do you think it'd make a difference to him?" Yuuri asked back.

And they both knew it wouldn't.

 

 

 

 

When the door opened again almost half an hour later, Victor was a mess. He was so nervous he jumped when the door hit his back because he was standing too close. Victor yelped and glared weakly at whoever was opening it, before he recognized Yuuri's face and jumped him instead.

"Yurenka!"

He pulled the smaller man into a tight hug, which made Yuuri chuckle against his shoulder where his face got smushed in Victor's excitement. Victor felt Yuuri's arms around him and the nerves slowly seeped out of him as if Yuuri had drained them away, leaving only peace in his chest and clarity in his mind.

"What did you talk about?" Victor asked, curious.

Yuuri pulled back to answer and Victor almost whined in protest.

"I'll tell you later," Yuuri said and this time Victor did pout. Yuuri only smiled. "Yakov wants to talk to you."

Victor looked at the open door and then back at Yuuri. He didn't want to leave him. It was bad enough that he had to do it before, but now there was Georgi and Mila there, watching Yuuri like hawks and Victor was fairly certain that as soon as the door to Yakov's office closed behind him, they'd jump Yuuri with either questions or guns, or _both_.

"Just go," Yuuri told him, gently pushing him towards the office.

"You'll be right here when I come back?" he asked and Yuuri smiled.

"Of course."

"It's a promise," Victor said.

Yuuri only gave him a small, lightly exasperated smile that Victor kept thinking of while he entered Yakov's office. He was still thinking of it when he left, not even registering any of the words Yakov put into his rather long lecture about "You will be the death of me, Vitya. How could you have trusted that man?"

He was still thinking of that smile when he realized that _Yuuri wasn't there_.

"Where is he?"

The half smile he was wearing was gone from his face faster than his heart could've stopped at the thought that something could've happened to Yuuri. Mila handed him a small piece of paper before Victor could go into a rage. Shooting her a glare, he opened it.

In Yuuri's neat handwriting, he read:

_I need to take care of something, ask Yakov. Don't follow me. I will be back. It's a promise._

Crumpling the note in his shaking fist, Victor turned to Yakov.

"What did you do?" he growled.

"Nothing he didn't agree to," Yakov replied and Victor saw red.

 

 


	12. All the time in the world

 

 

"But why?" Phichit whined. "Can't he move here? Did you even ask?"

Yuuri had to try really hard to keep himself from rolling his eyes.

"I didn't ask." Before Phichit could start again, he quickly added: "But I know the answer without it. He's tied to Feltsman too closely. He wouldn't leave him, not even for me. And I don't want to ask him to do that in the first place."

Phichit pouted for a full minute, but then, after a deep, painful sigh that was just for show, he smiled.

"You really love him, don't you?"

It was an almost involuntary reaction to hide when Yuuri felt his cheeks colour. He turned his face away from Phichit to avoid opening himself up for more teasing. It was hard to escape from someone who knew him so well, though, so Yuuri wasn't really surprised when Phichit grinned as if he knew exactly what Yuuri was thinking and was planning on using it for his own benefit.

"Make sure to invite me to the wedding." Phichit winked.

And there it was, Yuuri thought. And then he groaned.

"There won't be a wedding, stop that!"

He began to walk away, done with his friend's antics.

"What?!" Phichit's outraged shriek followed him down the hallway. "What do you mean there won't be a wedding?! You coward! Let me write my best man speech, how dare you deprive me of that?!"

"Fine," Yuuri said, stopping with a hand on the handle of the already open door. "Talk to Victor about it and if you can convince him to propose you can start writing your speech."

Phichit gave a loud whoop of joy that had Yuuri smiling despite himself. He shook his head lightly and left Phichit's lab to submit his resignation to Celestino. He found him in his office, as always, and as soon as their eyes met, Celestino's gaze hardened.

"I don't know what it is you want to say yet, but I can already tell I'm not going to like it, so out with it," he said.

Yuuri swallowed. Celestino had every right to refuse his request, and if he did Yuuri would be forced to part with him on worse terms that he wanted to, but it was a risk he'd already calculated into his plans. Still, even if it was necessary, he hated to think of having to kill Celestino. After so many years together, even Yuuri's cold heart had become just a tad attached to his boss and handler.

"I'm leaving," Yuuri finally said, coming up to the desk and settling opposite Celestino. "I'm moving to Russia, under Feltsman."

"That wasn't part of the plan," Celestino said, which they both knew well.

"It wasn't," Yuuri agreed. Then, he hesitated, but in the end decided to be open about it: "I honestly don't know how it happened, either. Victor changed something in me."

"Or he played you."

Yuuri narrowed his eyes. "You think I haven't considered it?"

Celestino said nothing, so Yuuri allowed his scowl to smooth out, and sighed.

"He's as much in love with me as we could've hoped. It's just... I fell in love with him along the way, too."

"So the plan has failed, and the mission was compromised," Celestino summed up and, well, Yuuri couldn't say he was wrong. "And you've made contact with your target, but let him get out of it alive."

Yuuri only nodded, because no matter what he'd say, he did all of that... and more.

"It's quite a position you've put me in, Yuuri," Celestino said, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his temples. "If we followed the normal procedure, you'd be replaced by someone who'd be able to finish what you started. But I assume that's out of the question, yes?" At Yuuri's nod, Celestino sighed. "Then what are we to do with this mess you've brought in?"

"About that," Yuuri chimed in. "I may have solved the problem already?"

Celestino lifted an eyebrow at him and motioned with his hand to go on, which Yuuri gladly did.

"Jiao-long Tian is dead. I killed him." Celestino sat up straighter, alarmed, but Yuuri forged on: "I took action myself, under no orders from anyone, and I can't expect for you to pay for it. When news about one of your clients getting murdered gets out, I want you to be able to distance yourself from me. So, I'm leaving to work under Feltsman."

"I bet he's happy about Dragon's death, they've been at each other's throats for years," Celestino said, eyeing Yuuri suspiciously. "And you really want to work for him?"

Yuuri shrugged. "I don't necessarily want it, no. But I'll take it rather than sit at home and wait for my boyfriend to return from his assignments. Can't fit the stay-at-home bride type anyway."

Celestino's lips quirked a little.

"No, I can't see you as one either."

 They shared a small moment of amusement before Yuuri sat up as well.

"Look, Celestino, I'm grateful for all the freedom you've given me over the years. I really am," Yuuri said. "I don't want to get you in more trouble than I'm worth. That, and Victor, are the two reasons I decided to leave, so please don't make it any harder than it is."

Celestino sighed. "I wasn't planning to, Yuuri. You're free to leave at any time, that was our deal, remember? I just didn't think this job will be it."

"I never thought it'd end up like this either, if it's any consolation," Yuuri added. "It just... happened."

"Yes, I can see that," Celestino commented, but he was visibly more amused than upset. A huge weight lifted off Yuuri's shoulders when Celestino simply stared at him for a moment and then nodded. "Okay, va bene. We'll miss your prowess, but I'm sure you'll use your talents well in Feltsman's circle. Hopefully, not against us anytime soon."

Yuuri gave him a small smile, because this was the place where everything they both knew each other to be ended and no amount of sentiment or sweet words could sway them ever again.

"It's nothing personal, but you are aware that I can't stop anyone from coming after you anymore, yes?" Celestino asked. "Your head is your own problem now, and Feltsman's."

"And Victor's," Yuuri added with a curt nod. "Yes, I know."

Then, because he felt the slight nostalgia towards the many years they'd shared together, he finished with:

"I'm going to miss you and Phichit quite a lot."

Celestino only laughed and after a second, Yuuri joined him too.

 

 

 

 

To say he was angry at Yakov would be an understatement. Victor was positively _pissed_.

He sulked, he refused to speak to him, denied to take his calls.

But it wasn't Yakov he was most angry with.

Once the initial shock had passed, Victor realized his anger was directed somewhere else. Somewhere where Yuuri was, doing God knows what with God knows who, while Victor was kept inside Moscow by force.

After the day when Yuuri disappeared, Victor was still planning on ditching the tail Yakov had assigned him to follow Yuuri, except he had no idea where to go and how to find him. Yuuri was gone. Pooffed out of existence. He could have never existed in the first place, or have been a group hallucination that they all experienced – there was so little news of him.

After a week of fruitless searching, Victor let the anger swallow him. He wallowed in it, let it consume him and burn through him. His gym clothes were ripped to shreds from the intense work out sessions he'd been doing to get rid of the urge to strangle someone, preferably someone Japanese with a lean, pale throat that looked so beautiful with his hickeys on it.

After two weeks, he started worrying. No one had any contact with Yuuri. His phone didn't work. The line has been disconnected. Even Yakov had no idea where he was or how to get to him, for all that he claimed Yuuri was out to finish a job for him. And Victor was getting sick with thoughts of being abandoned.

After three weeks, he locked himself in the small apartment he never really got to share with Yuuri. Yuuri's stuff was still there, untouched, and Victor looked through it all, piece by piece, to keep himself sane and remind himself that yes, Yuuri was real, he was alive, what happened between them was still bright and vivid in his memories and that Yuuri promised to come back to him, that he loved him, and that his disappearance was nothing but temporary.

After a month, Victor had become a hermit. No one dared to disturb him, because his moods were always raging from being pitifully sad, through blisteringly heated anger, to soft weeping that made anyone's heart break. His own the most. People generally preferred to worry about him from the distance, but Victor couldn't bring himself to care about any of that. The only thing he still did care about _wasn't there_.

It was during one of those one-man pity parties he so enjoyed throwing himself recently that the door of his room was ripped off its hinges with a powerful kick. Victor blinked in disinterest at the door that was now lying on the floor and then looked up at the angry teen standing on top of it.

Yuri was scowling, but he always was so it wasn't any sort of distinction from norm. His nose wrinkled with disgust as he took in Victor's dishevelled form and that, well, that was something.

"Get your shit together, you fucking crybaby," Yuri said.

When Victor made no move to do anything but stay in his bed and maybe cry a little more, Yuri growled and stomped his head and the broke door.

"He's back," he barked like speaking the words alone made him feel sick.

And Victor needn't ask more.

He wanted to run off to Yakov's place as soon as he stumbled out of his bed, but Yuri refused to leave the house in his company until he at least resembled a human being. So Victor showered. He shaved. He brushed his teeth, combed his hair. He put on fresh clothes. Only when Yuri snorted his approval, which was a brash "I guess that's as good as it gets", was Victor allowed to go.

The closer they came to the headquarters, however, the angrier Victor got. Everything returned to him in a rush of feelings and even though he was ecstatic about the prospect of seeing Yuuri again, unharmed and back, the betrayal still stung somewhere deep in his chest.

"He's still with Yakov," Mila said when she spotted Victor walking through the door of the building.

"I don't care," he said, and he didn't.

He'd waited over a month. With no word, no contact, no nothing. He was not waiting a second longer.

No one stopped him when he jumped up the stairs, two steps at a time, and burst into Yakov's office. Victor was sure that the face he was making scared them all away, but he didn't care. All his thoughts were focused on one person, and one person only.

Yakov was sitting behind his desk, as he always was. A file was spread before him and a finger was pointing something to him.

A finger that belonged to a hand.

A hand that belonged to an arm.

An arm that belonged to–

Yuuri turned around when Victor entered the room, a small smile curling on his lips in greeting.

 _God_ , Victor thought to himself, staring at him like a mute fool, _he's beautiful_.

Yuuri's hair was brushed back elegantly, his forehead in full view. His cheekbones stood out of his face, cheeks slightly sunken and hollowed. He was thinner than Victor remembered him being and there were dark shadows under his eyes that clearly didn't belong there. Victor wanted them gone.

Unwittingly, he took a step forward, but he didn't cross the room to take Yuuri in his arms like his first impulse told him to. He stopped himself, rooted in place, when anger blazed to life inside him once again like a fire sparked to life from barely put out coals.

Yuuri looked like he has just scraped through hell by the skin of his teeth.

And Victor was angry. More than ever before.

He could've helped. Like they had done for months before, he could've carried half the burden Yuuri took onto himself, he could've made it easier for him. He could've made sure he slept safe, he could've fed him properly, he could've been there for him _if only Yuuri had asked_.

But he hadn't.

And it hurt.

"Vitya," Yuuri called and Victor hated how it made his heart throb.

He blinked, suddenly aware that his vision had gone blurry with tears. He blinked some more, trying to chase them away, but as if to spite him, they spilled out onto his cheeks.

"Hey," Yuuri stepped up to him, reaching out a hand to wipe the tears away. "I'm–"

Before the hand could reach him, Victor slapped it away. It was easier to glare now, the anger steeled him. Victor hated the shock that was visible in Yuuri's eyes for just a second until it melted into a passive, blank mask.

"Don't touch me," Victor said, voice hard. "I'm mad at you, okay?"

"You would've done the same thing in my place," Yuuri replied.

"I wouldn't!" Victor denied. "That's just it, I wouldn't! I trust you! And you just left."

He was bitter. Hurt. Angry. Lonely.

Why couldn't Yuuri understand that?

"I left you a note," Yuuri said, stubbornly. And if circumstances were any different, maybe Victor would've called it cute how Yuuri crossed his arms over his chest, looking a little like a sulking child. But now it just looked cold, uncaring, and Victor shivered in anger. "I told you I'd be back. Did you trust me then?"

"Oh no, you don't get to turn this around on me," Victor threatened. "You fucked up, you hear me?" A corner of Yuuri's mouth twitched like he wanted to say something, but Victor didn't let him. "Yes, you did. _You fucked up, Yuuri_."

They both forgot about Yakov in the room, but Yakov clearly didn't forget he was there.

"If you want to have a lover's spat, please do it outside my office," he cut in before Victor could say anything else and Victor rounded his narrowed eyes on him.

"You are just as guilty, Yakov," he said, disregarding the way Yakov's jaw clicked. "You sanctioned this, so now you're going to sit there, _in silence_ , and suffer for what you've done."

Yakov huffed, but said nothing more, and Victor turned back to Yuuri.

"I was worried _sick_ ," he spat. "Ask just about anyone. I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep, I couldn't even bring myself to hate you because _I love you_ and you just–" He took a deep breath when his throat tightened. "You just left me."

"Did you ask Yakov why?" Yuuri asked.

Victor scowled. What did it even matter _why_? There was no explanation good enough to justify what Yuuri had done. And even if there was, by some miracle, it didn't change the fact that Victor would much rather have heard about it from Yuuri _before_ he disappeared.

"Something about your contractor putting a prize on your head or whatever," he waved an impatient hand, recalling a little of what he remembered Yakov telling him.

"That's part of it," Yuuri nodded. "The other part is a place in Yakov's circle. For me."

"You–" Victor looked from Yuuri to Yakov, baffled, and then settled his gaze on Yakov.

"Why didn't you tell me that?" he demanded.

"Because you weren't listening to me, Vitya," Yakov sighed like an owner of an unruly puppy who tore through his wardrobe for the hundredth time. "You were angry and stormed off before I could even get there. You only have yourself to blame for that hotheadedness of yours."

"So you did it..." Victor started, lifting his eyes to Yuuri.

"For you," Yuuri said, and then corrected himself. "For us."

Now Victor felt a little stupid. Maybe he shouldn't have gotten so angry. A bit angry, yes, because it wasn't like he didn't have a reason to, but maybe if he listened to everything Yakov wanted to say he wouldn't have spent this last month feeling like utter shit.

"You still fucked up," Victor said, a bit quieter. "You could've just told me that before you left."

Yuuri inclined his head. "You're right, I could've done that. I should've. I'm sorry."

Victor sighed, suddenly drained. This was stupid. Yuuri was alive, and he was finally back, and what was he doing? Getting angry at him, slapping his hand away, telling him all those awful things – even if they had to be said.

Victor felt overall awful.

"Okay," he finally said. "Can I have a hug now?"

Yuuri simply opened his arms and Victor stepped into them, taking Yuuri into a crushing embrace that almost lifted him off the floor. Victor's shoulders trembled a little when Yuuri's soothing hand brushed through the short ends of the hair on his nape. Pressing his cheek to Yuuri's and seeking out his warmth, Victor finally felt his heart settle into peace inside his chest.

"I've missed you," Yuuri whispered, his voice soft only for Victor's ear.

Before Victor could decide what his reply should be – an equally as soft "I love you," or maybe a kiss to Yuuri's temple, or a teasing threat of "You owe me so many cuddles for this," – Yuuri looked over his shoulder at Yakov.

"Do you need anything else from me right now? I have a puppy starved for attention to take care of," he said and Victor could feel the curve of Yuuri's smirk against his jawline.

Victor whined. "Yurenka..."

Yuuri snickered into his neck and patted him on the back. Victor didn't see Yakov's reaction, but he heard the clear dismissal when Yakov said:

"Get out of my sight, you two. I've had enough of this foolishness for one day."

Neither Victor nor Yuuri needed to be told twice.

 

 

 

 

They barely stepped out of Victor's car, tired and eager for nothing more than just to spend hours wrapped in each other's arms, when Victor's phone began to ring a familiar note that Yuuri could still hum under his breath even after a month. Victor ignored it as they walked into the elevator, but Yuuri couldn't stand the sound in the tiny closed box. It was too grating on his tired mind.

"Oh, pick it up," he said, elbowing Victor lightly. "Just make it quick, yes?"

Victor gave him a little smile and said nothing as he pulled out his phone and quickly pressed it against his ear. He was frowning, so Yuuri guessed it must not have been anyone he expected to call and when Victor answered in English, Yuuri was proven right – he was standing close enough that he could recognize the voice on the other end with ease.

"Oh my god, _he didn't_ ," Yuuri mumbled to himself.

He squeezed his eyes shut. He wasn't able to hear the exact words that were spoken, but he knew who the caller was immediately.

Victor didn't.

"I'm sorry, who is this again?" Victor asked, voice cold, but Yuuri could see the confusion on his face at suddenly being yelled at by someone he'd never even met.

Before another string of excited English could fill his ears, Yuuri grabbed Victor's phone.

"Pragma, for fuck's sake," he grumbled. "I was kidding when I told you to call him. You're ruining our reunion."

"Oh, Yuuri!" Phichit chirped happily from the other end. "I was just about to list to Victor all the reasons why he needs to _put a ring on it_ as soon as possible. Switch over!"

Yuuri groaned, because Phichit actually had the audacity to sing the ring part in a cheerful parody of Beyonce. He dropped the call without another word. It came as no surprise to him when Phichit was calling again only a second after.

"Should I be concerned that my personal number is being used for this friendly exchange?" Victor asked, now more amused, but still pretty confused about the entire thing.

Yuuri shook his head, and accepted the call. He didn't even put it up to his ear and he didn't need to: Single Ladies blared to life in the small elevator that was very slowly climbing up to Victor's floor.

Victor's face lit up with understanding the moment Yuuri disconnected the call again. He wasted no time and redialled the number. Phichit picked up after the first ring.

"I hate you," Yuuri said and dropped the call again, after which he switched off Victor's phone.

"So," Victor started, a smiling building up on his face. "Is there something you want to tell me? Something about a ring, maybe?"

Yuuri gave a pained moan. "Drop it."

"Drop the ring?" Victor repeated. "That doesn't sound very lucky."

"Fine, oh my god, do you want to marry me?" Yuuri asked, turning to Victor with an exasperated huff. "Are you and Pragma happy now? There, I said it."

Victor looked at him with widened eyes. The elevator came to a screeching halt and the doors slowly began to open. Yuuri stepped out, but turned back when it became obvious that Victor had remained rooted in place.

"Did you just ask me to marry you?" Victor repeated.

He sounded dumbfounded. Starstruck. Awed.

Yuuri took a shaky breath.

"I did, yeah," he agreed. "But that was only a–"

With an ear-piercing keen, Victor jumped on Yuuri before he even finished talking and the added, unexpected weight made them both flip over onto the hard, tiled floor. Victor's lips connected with Yuuri's midair. Yuuri tasted blood when Victor's teeth knocked into his lips, but that in itself was less of a shock than when his ass landed on the floor with enough force to make his teeth chatter.

"What are you–"

"Yes," Victor breathed, fast and hard, and then kissed Yuuri again. "Yes, yes, yes!"

He punctuated every word with another kiss. Through the slight haze of confusion and the rush of adrenaline at the fall, Yuuri could see his own blood from the split lip smearing over Victor's lips – they were painted red and swelling from all the kisses he was pressing into Yuuri's mouth, but Yuuri couldn't help only seeing them as _pretty_.

"We should... go... inside..." Yuuri started, replying to Victor's kisses as eagerly as they were laid on him. "We're... blocking... the lift..."

Victor hummed with his mouth over Yuuri's and his hands fisted into the front of Yuuri's shirt. He stood up, pulled Yuuri up by it, and tugged him down the hallway with an urgency that Yuuri could tell matched the one burning in his veins.

 

 

 

 

They stumbled through the door of Victor's apartment, kissing and smiling into each other like teenagers in love. It was new, it was fresh, it was freeing – like for the first time they could be just themselves. With everything out in the open now, Yuuri was just Yuuri and Victor was just Victor, and they were together.

Guiding Yuuri backwards to the bedroom, Victor switched down their pace. He kissed Yuuri soft and slow, hand on the side of his neck and thumb running over the jugular that pulsed with blood. Yuuri's fingers were pulling him by his belt and as soon as they stepped through the threshold, he was unclasping it and pulling it out of the loops. It dropped to the floor with a small clatter, but neither of them cared about where they left their clothes now.

Victor's eyes were on Yuuri and Yuuri's on Victor, and it was the only thing that mattered.

The rest of the clothes soon littered the ground, and Victor had a brief thought that he was glad his bedroom was one of the semi-clean rooms in his apartment, before Yuuri was pulling him into a hungry kiss that chased off all thoughts from his head.

Luxurious swipes of the tongue that rubbed against the inside of his mouth and pulled him into the sweet cave of Yuuri's made Victor's mind go delightfully warm and blank. Yuuri's breathy moans were like a siren call to the heat already pooling low in Victor's abdomen. Victor pressed Yuuri to the mattress with his body, grinding their crotches together in his excitement. Even through their briefs it felt amazing, Victor had almost forgotten this rush.

But his body didn't forget.

Every place he touched on Yuuri made Yuuri shiver under his hands, melt into his caresses, moan at his closeness. It seemed like no time had passed between now and the last time they were this close. Their bodies recognized each other as if nothing had changed, so when Yuuri arched his back and rolled his hips against Victor's, Victor clearly knew what he wanted.

And he was going to give it to him as hard as he'd missed him this past month.

He clambered off Yuuri, already missing his body heat, and pulled the lube and condoms from the drawer next to the bed.

"Do you want to do it, or should I?" Victor asked, turning back around, but there was no reply. "Yuuri?"

With his dick denting his briefs, half-hard and ready to go, Victor stepped up to the bed. Yuuri's eyes were closed, his breathing was even, and he was snuggling into Victor's pillow.

Deep asleep. Out like a light. Dead to the world and Victor's boner.

Victor pouted.

Victor sighed.

And Victor covered Yuuri's body with a blanket, kissed his forehead, and let him sleep, because no matter what happened after this, they had time. They had all the time in the world.

 

 


	13. Happily ever after

 

 

Sipping delicate, fuzzy champagne from his glass, Yuuri tried to ignore the voice in his earpiece which was proving incredibly hard. Harder than ever.

_I remember you drinking like crazy back in London. Do you have such a high tolerance? I never got to ask._

Yuuri ignored Victor in favour of stealing a glance at his mark. She was looking in his direction and keeping up the brief eye contact with her throughout the event was a surefire way to catch her attention enough to make her do his job for him. Yuuri only had to wait–

_You look so hot when you swallow, Yuuri. I can't stop staring at your throat. I want to sink my–_

–and ignore the horny man speaking inside his head.

Honestly. Who gave Victor permission to be included in this? Yuuri had to talk to Yakov.

A movement to his left caught his eye. Yuuri lifted his hand to his ear, subtly plucking the earpiece out, just as he murmured:

"Target approaching. Will report later."

He didn't have to hear Victor's protests to know they were vocal. He put the small device into his jacket pocket and whirled around just in time to greet the woman with a smirk. She replied in kind, leaning close and touching his arm with familiarity that made Yuuri's skin crawl.

"I've noticed you eyeing me the whole evening," she said, pursing her lips on the last 'o' in a way that, Yuuri would bet, she thought looked adorable. It didn't.

Yuuri forced on a smile.

"It's hard not to admire beauty," he replied as he brushed his fingers down her bare arm. "And I must say, I do have an eye for it, thankfully."

"Thankfully, indeed." She graced him with a smile, flattered. "Are you here with someone?"

Yuuri shook his head. "I'm afraid not. You see, women don't like me much."

"How ridiculous! What's there not to like?" She stepped closer, her perfume going up Yuuri's nose. He discreetly reached up to pinch it, pretending to hide a smile behind his hand.

"You flatter me," he said.

"Wait." The woman's smile froze as she stared at his hand. "You're married?"

Yuuri looked at the golden ring that sat proudly on his hand. He could've taken it off before the mission, but Victor would've given him hell afterwards and Yuuri would rather not risk it. Hell hath no fury like a Victor scorned.

He snorted to himself at the joke, which to his target must have sounded like disdain.

"Ah," he told the woman. "I am, but... it's not a happy marriage."

It was an _euphoric_ marriage. But she did not need to know that.

The mistrust on the woman's face morphed into delight, and she leaned on Yuuri's arm, pressing herself into his side. She smiled invitingly, a telling twinkle in her eyes.

"How about I help you find some of that happiness in other ways?" she asked.

Yuuri replied with a smile of his own. "What do you have in mind?"

His hand on her waist, they made it to the elevators. Before the doors even opened she climbed up on her toes to press a kiss against his neck and Yuuri shivered with disgust. She must have taken it as a shiver of pleasure, because she nipped at the place lightly again. Yuuri thanked all the gods when the metal door finally chimed open.

"Are you sure your wife won't mind this?" she asked when Yuuri pushed the button for the parking lot down in the basement.

She touched the ring with curious fingers and it took all Yuuri had in him to keep from snatching his hand away and growling at her. The knowledge that Victor was doing it back at home, where he was watching the live feed through the cameras installed in Yuuri's contact lenses, didn't help him much. Instead of doing what he wanted to, Yuuri smirked and leaned into the woman's personal space to wickedly whisper:

"I'm sure she will."

The woman laughed, a cute little sound that was the first thing Yuuri had found appealing about her. Too bad that she had to go. Now.

Yuuri pulled his gun out of the holster and a single shot later, the woman's dead body collapsed to the marbled floor. The elevator continued moving until it reached the parking lot. The door opened and Yuuri pushed the button for the roof before he slipped out, leaving the corpse for some poor fellow to find.

He pulled the earpiece out from his pocket and put it in his ear securely, slowly making his way to his car, while he pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the blood off of his face.

"Did you get everything?" he spoke.

_Yurenka, love, I will have you know that your wife minds very much. Why did you let her bite you, you're mine! No one apart from me gets to touch you like that!_

Yuuri rolled his eyes, but there was a smile on his lips. "Tell that to the girl you allowed to grope you two weeks ago."

_I cannot believe you're still mad about that. It was an accident, I swear!_

Yuuri hummed, not really believing him. He got inside the car and started it.

_Anyway, are you coming home now? Yakov wants to know. Also, I've missed you._

"Yes, I'm on my way," Yuuri said, completely ignoring the last part. "Did you get the suits to the dry cleaners' like I asked?"

If anyone was there with Victor, Yuuri was pretty sure there were snickers at Victor's expense. He grinned.

_I was too busy missing you!_

Of course he was. Maybe they should get a dog? Yuuri heard poodles were amazing companions for lonely people. It wouldn't hurt to get one, so Victor could spoil someone else for a change when Yuuri was busy earning their bread and butter.

"Well," Yuuri said, pulling out of the parking space. "I suppose I will stop in some motel for the night and come home tomorrow then."

Victor gasped. _No._

"Oh yes." Yuuri drove out onto an empty street, taking a right turn at the nearest cross-section. "Unless those suits get all sparkly clean before I come back home. If they're extra nice and ironed, I might even be convinced into giving a reward for a job well done."

_Um... Oh, Yakov's calling me, I gotta go, love! See you back home!_

Victor's voice disappeared from Yuuri's ear and Yuuri chuckled to himself. He took the device out and discarded it in one of the bottle slots next to the driving stick. He pressed his foot down on the gas and shifted gears, the car racing fast through the empty night time streets. The lights of the lamps he passed gleamed off of his ring and Yuuri lifted his hand off the steering wheel to press his lips to the cold gold.

It was time to go home.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> phew! and this is all for today folks ;3c  
> thanks for sticking around with this story, I hope you enjoyed it!  
> and pls give a shout to [@lamenart](http://lamenart.tumblr.com/) and [@iruutciv](http://iruutciv.tumblr.com/) for the incredible art they created for this piece, if you still haven't~
> 
> till next time~ //sends smooches


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